


a chronology of the reliquary

by reliquiaen



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Clan Lore, Gen, The Reliquary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 13:47:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17561549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reliquiaen/pseuds/reliquiaen
Summary: a historical record of the individuals and events relevant to the clan from its foundation to (almost) present.please visit my lair (#705) for the characters, although not all mentioned within are still in the lair. this is being moved from tumblr for a couple of reasons: my own record keeping, tumblr being a douche, and bc i'm starting a pinkerlocke and ao3 seems the better place to safely store written works.





	1. the second chance

**Author's Note:**

> can't believe i never thought to look for a fr tag on here before now. damn. to anyone who follows me for my ship works, lmao i'm so sorry. here there be dragons.

When the dragons were still young, still gathering their feet beneath them, still relatively new to Sornieth and its magic, the Eleven imbued in some of them a strange power. These few are pillars of strength; the backbone of the races each of the deities gave life. Their eyes shimmer vibrantly in the colours of their element, their magic pure and their feet swift. They are dragons just like their kin, their offspring and neighbours. But they are something _more_ , too.

Or so the story goes.

There are many fairy tales about the seeding of the world, stories about the power of the original dragons, the ways in which the world could be made to bend to their will, the strange manner in which they attract others to them and how societies could form with a single word. Stories of how they commune with the deities, the special blessings bestowed upon them and the prestige of tracing a lineage back to them, the royal families established on such claims. Some dragons discount these tales as daydreams, but the truth is many of these original dragons still walk the earth, still rules lands.

And some of the whispers about them are even true. Not that they would advertise this and risk painting a target on their backs or on their families. Although some of them did not begin families. Despite the purpose for which they might have been made, not all of them were so inclined to start a clan.

Venin was one such, keeping on the move at all times lest others gather to him like they did to those like him. He considered serving his deity a fine calling, wandering beneath the foggy purple boughs of the Tangled Woods to aid those who need it and melt away into shadows without a word. Why he wandered beneath the dark trees fighting off bandits and brain-rot infected monsters remained a mystery to all, even those who obtained his assistance, for he spoke very little, if at all. But they spoke of him like they spoke of all the other original dragons, soft and reverent, muttering about the mask he wears, the companion he keeps, the rumours that he surrendered his eyes to Shadowbinder in exchange for unnatural powers.

He lets them talk, mostly because correcting them wouldn’t help, but also because he has better things to do. And he does his utmost to avoid prolonged social interaction.

Which worked fine for a while. Until it didn’t.

–

He dives into the shadows gathered at the base of a wagon and launches out of the darkness cast by the wings of one of the raiders. The _whump_ he makes when he collides with the surprised Mirror is enough to send the raider sprawling. They all wear masks, wooden with scratched paint, no doubt to conceal features and eyes. This one loses its mask, it goes skittering across the packed soil and the raider looks up, red eyes baleful and angry.

He hisses, legs coiling as he prepares to strike at Venin, but he vanishes into the shadows again, reappearing behind him, lashing out and causing the raider to howl. The Mirror hollers for a retreat, snatching up his mask as he gallops away from the wagon. Around him, three other Mirrors take off at high speeds across the ground, making a beeline for the craggy ground that drops away into the territory marking the border between the Woods and the Wasteland.

Venin watches them go and when the last one dips out of sight he turns slowly to make sure the wagon’s owners are alright. A blue Guardian stands beside the cart, her attention on two prone forms and off to one side is another of the raiders, mask askew, a large gash across the throat. The Guardian’s work, he assumes, stepping closer.

And that’s when he notices the Fae crumpled in the paws of one of the Mirrors. The Guardian nosed gently at them but Venin could tell they weren’t breathing. He turned his attention on the other Mirror, younger from the looks of things, her sides heaved erratically, laboured.  The Guardian made a strangled sound deep in her throat and shifted to look more closely at first the Mirror and then Venin.

“She might be okay with help,” she mused, something clearly left unsaid at the end. Venin tilted his head, his mask sliding across his nose. “Do you know a place we might stay?”

He nodded, glancing back at the wagon. The Guardian followed his gaze and her brow furrowed. After a moment of consideration, she stepped over and draped a few of the sacks in the wagon across her shoulders. Then she very gently lifted the Mirror off the ground, holding the unconscious dragon against her chest with one great paw. She glanced once more at the two bodies, no doubt deliberating the wisdom of taking the time to bury them properly, and then made a gesture with her nose and Venin though that’s probably her way of saying ‘lead the way’. So he did.

He started off across the dirt and into the field of swaying grey grass, luminescent buds waving gently in the breeze. It took them a while to reach the trees, but once they stepped under the branches it was as if night descended all at once, blanketing them in a comforting silence and protecting them from unwanted eyes. Mostly at least, there could have been any number of watchers within the Woods.

And while they walked, the Guardian told him their story, the one he interrupted by arriving at the wagon when he did, she thanked him for that too, several times. Her name was Denara, by the way. Those two dragons they left with the wagon were the founders of a clan, the Mirror she carried their daughter, the raiders those who rose up to take over their clan.

“These Mirrors,” Denara said in a low voice. “They were unhappy with the quiet life their leader wanted, apparently. Tried to get him to see their way by kidnapping their daughter and leaving her out in the Wastelands. It didn’t work, though.” She shrugged one shoulder, the supply bags jostling against her scales.

Instead, the girl’s parents had pilfered supplies and gone looking for their child. They found her and, pursued by those who betrayed them, fled for the Woods. Venin lowered his head, heaving a deep sigh, trying not to surrender to his own, similar memories. The past was better off left alone. Surviving is hard and the world was still mostly empty, strangers were hard to trust. Clearly this Mirror had paid the price for it.

It took a few hours to reach a location Venin knew to be satisfactory. What looked to be nothing more than a misshapen hillock covered in brambles and wrapped closely by spindly trees. Denara lifted a brow in question, but Venin merely shouldered some of the brambles aside, revealing a burrow into the side of the hill. He slid through the space without trouble but Denara faced more of a struggle, her broad shoulders barely making it through. She lay the Mirror on the soil and unloaded one of her bags, her eyes drifted over to Venin but he made no move towards her or the exit, content to watch for now.

“This doesn’t seem the most secure of locations,” Denara noted. “It looks hard to defend. If it’s all the same to you, she’ll need somewhere less open to recover.”

Venin only nodded once and curled up on the packed earth as far from them as he could get. Most of Denara’s thick blue tail blocked the entrance anyway; he wouldn’t be slipping past them easily. He kept one eye fixed on his current companions though, unsure that he could trust them. Trust got you killed.

Still, it had been a long day, and when Denara’s breathing evened out, the last of the tension unwound from his shoulders and he drifted to sleep.

–

He was woken by more hissing.

The Mirror remained on the floor where she’d been the day before, only now her eyes were fixed on Venin, glowing softly in the dim light of the burrow. Venin was on his feet in one smooth motion, Denara filled the entrance, she was the source of the hissing. The focus of her ire was a small bony creature slithering through the opening.

Just as she was about to bring a paw down on top of it, Venin launched between them, crests vibrating angrily. Calamus blinked up at Venin and pottered past to inspect the Mirror. She visibly recoiled when he extended one spindly arm to probe her foreleg.

“Let him,” Venin whispered. “He will find medicine.”

Denara blinked at him. “You know this creature?”

Calamus hummed, a sing-song chirping sound at odds with his bizarre skeletal appearance. Venin nodded slowly as Calamus continued to poke and prod at the Mirror, taking stock of any injuries she had. Once satisfied, he ambled over to Venin, pausing only long enough to reach up and jangle his bone necklace, then he skittered back outside, disappearing into the underbrush.

“Is it a healer?” the Mirror asked, eyes still watching after Calamus.

“No,” Venin replied softly. “A friend.”

“I was beginning to think you didn’t speak,” Denara chuckled. “And do you have a name?” He tilted his head at the Mirror and Denara successfully read into the gesture. “Oh, this is Norok.”

He bobbed his head, keeping his head angled towards the Mirror anyway. “Venin,” he eventually relented. “You can’t stay here.” With that he turned and left, knowing without a doubt that they would both follow. And they did.

Through the trees towards the coastline. It took them days to cross the distance, slow going thanks to Norok’s broken leg, but they remained mostly alone the whole time. Occasionally the more daring fauna hassled them, angry at them for encroaching on territory or straying too close to nests, but nothing more.

The world was still mostly empty.

Norok, thankfully, was not talkative, but Denara often had observations or questions. Venin did his best to ignore them. And when they reached the shore, or the cliffs overlooking the shore, he paused, facing out over the waves. The briny wind whipped through the trees and made the bones of his necklace clatter together like chimes. They hadn’t seen Calamus since they left the burrow but he knew where to wait for them. It was close now.

He turned to continue on his way but a whining drifted through the trees, freezing him in place. There were unlikely to be raiders or mercenaries in these parts but best to be safe. He slipped sideways into the shadows, disappearing more completely than should be possible. Denara immediately called out, surprised as he vanished. It was easy to slink through the darkness, it coiled around him like a cloak, like armour, puddling beneath every leaf, he sank into it with every step he took, enveloped by it completely.

When he found the source of the sound, what looked like a broken pile of twigs, he hesitated, crouched low in the impossible darkness of some brambles. The twigs stirred, but feebly, producing another of the strangled cries. Carefully, he stepped out of the shadows to get closer. It was not twigs, but a Fae, small and brown and, by the looks of things, broken.

One side of her small face was ruined with gashes, perhaps from some clawed creature or a particularly nasty disease; other similar injuries ran down her side. She shifted her head weakly, trying to fix her good eye – glassy and green – on him but failing. She made another sound, a long whining noise and Venin wondered at her chances. Still, he felt compelled to at least try and help her. It is what he swore to do, after all.

Very carefully, he helped her nestle down on the top of his head, between his crests. She said something, so soft he couldn’t hear it, but he assumed it was a thanks of some sort. Being extra cautious not to jostle her too much, he set off back towards the others. They took one look at the Fae curled up on his head before following him off into the trees along the cliff’s edge. He pretended not to see Denara’s smile.

Luckily it wasn’t much further to their destination. A great rock formation protruded from the soft purplish soil, it hunched within a patch of brambles and the tall spindly trees leaned around it, long slender leaves hanging low caught in the ethereal glow of the mushrooms. Atop of the rock sat a huge hulking tree, old – very old – demanding all the canopy space, laden with cones and some small flickering baubles that might or might not be safe to eat. The roots of this broad tree wrapped around the rocky outcrop, a net of interwoven roots sliding off the edge to dive into the earth. Other, less picky flora grows in all the crevices and nooks made by the thick, serpentine roots, mushrooms and some plants with remedial properties.

Calamus sat perched on the roots about halfway up the rock, nosing about in the mushrooms and herbs there. He looked up when he heard them arrive; chirping is a happy greeting as he skittered down the side of the root and into the brambles. When he didn’t reappear Denara gave Venin a worried look.

“Is he okay, you think?”

Venin nodded and crossed the short stretch of empty ground before stepping through the brambles right up to the rock. Concealed by the roots and brambles was an entrance into what could only be described as a den. The opening itself was small, low and rough. He was careful of the Fae on his head as he ducked underneath. After that, it opened up into a larger space, easily large enough for five Guardians Denara’s size (if they could fit through the entrance anyway). There were other rooms carved out of the rock off to the side, water bubbled up in one of them and that’s where he found Calamus.

He had a thick paste already made, ready to apply. It was meant for Norok, Venin knew, but he deemed the Fae’s injuries more pressing. And so, when he lowered her to the ground, did Calamus. His chittering took on a more urgent pitch and he scurried back outside to fetch more useful plants. When he returned, gently pressing the salve into the Fae’s wounds she visibly relaxed. Calamus’ tone calmed somewhat after that, pushing a short green root into her mouth presumably to suck on, he looked up at Venin and made a decidedly pleased sound. So it seemed likely she would live. Venin rattled the bones around his neck and Calamus made another satisfied chattering sound before scuttling out to bind Norok’s leg.

For his part, Venin left them to it, content to sit by himself in the silence and the dark. None of the dragons he had recently helped seemed like they would leave him in peace any time soon and the idea was rather exhausting.

But perhaps he could slip out later when they slept and go back to his solitary habits.

–

That was not to be, apparently.

Despite his best estimation, when he stirred later the other dragons were all awake and there was a soft warm light filtering through the entrance which, by the looks, Denara had widened for her convenience at some point. Norok was on her feet, but still moved gingerly, her leg wrapped tightly in bandages and splinted with a sturdy length of wood. Her eyes fell on him as soon as he moved into the space.

A smile curled at her lips, somewhat teasing, he thought. “You made the right choice saving that Fae,” she told him tonelessly.

He didn’t bother dignifying her cryptic statement with a query but he didn’t have to. Not a moment later, Denara stooped into the den with the Fae clutching tightly to her spines. Calamus was absent again.

“Oh good, you’re up,” Denara said cheerily. “I thought you would’ve been up for hours. Your odd little friend did a good job.” She indicated the Fae. “Her swelling has gone down, fever is broken and infection has been staved off.”

“It’ll scar though,” Norok added. “But the important part is that she’s a healer.”

“Right,” Denara confirmed, moving into the den properly. “She was just pointing out some of the plants we can use to make medicine and other salves. It’s a very important step for any new clan.”

That gave him pause. “What?” he asked.

Denara gave him an innocent smile but he was sure she knew exactly what she’d said. “We have warriors and a healer. Perfect for starting a new clan. Plus we all have something in common: nowhere else to be.”

Venin shook his head. “No. I don’t do clans.”

The Fae gestured at him, movements still weak and sluggish, but he stepped over all the same. She did look better, like she’d make a full recovery eventually. With a few furious beats of her tiny wings, she leapt off Denara’s shoulder and onto his face, little claws scrabbling at his mask until they found purchase, and then she sat there a while, lungs heaving hard. Clearly that small act had used more energy than she could spare. But eventually she turned to him, leaned in close to his ear.

“They told me what you did,” she mumbled, a little breathless. Her frills shook but she didn’t have the energy even for that and so her words lacked inflection of any kind. “You gave them a second chance just like you did for me, saved our lives. Let us give _you_ one too.”

There was a moment then; it seemed to drag out into eternity, where he recalled the event that led him to this point, this instant, these dragons. The catalyst, as it were, the realisation that he could not keep going on the way he had been, that the life he’d crafted in the shadows was not one to be proud of. It was as if he were standing on the same cliff he had been then, doing the murderous work of other, darker individuals simply to survive when he was confronted with the fruits of his labours, when he saw for the first time what he’d been doing, that innocents were being hurt. Children, like Norok, had lost their families at his hand.

Shadowbinder had given him a way out, a way forward. She gave him an opportunity to help instead of bring suffering, made him a protector. He had assumed then that a clan would create ties that hinder any work as a protector he might undertake. But looking into this Fae’s one remaining eye, he thought perhaps _this_ is what his goddess had made him for.

 _This_ was the second chance.

“What’s your name?” he asked her.

She offered a pale smile when she replied, “Inerri.”

His crests twitched uncomfortably. “I’m no leader, never wanted a clan.” He took a deep breath. “But if you want, we can be a place for others who need a new beginning.”

“For now,” Norok began, more solemnly than he might have expected. “You saved us,” she glanced at Denara before continuing, “ _all_ of us. So until you find a replacement, I’d say you’re stuck in a leadership role. Leader of a reliquary for the cast-offs of other clans.”

The others nodded their agreement and he sighed again.

Norok had chortled at her joke, but she would come to regret it later when the clan’s name was decided. It is always – rightly – attributed to her. So they became the Reliquary. Much to her undying chagrin.

 


	2. those outcast

There were to be other conversations in the following days that he found equally uncomfortable. The first of which, broached by Denara, was that of numbers. Is a clan really a clan with only four dragons, she asked. Venin argued that, yes, of course it was. But naturally, if they were going to live up to the idea of giving others a fresh start, they… well they’d have to take in those new faces.

He should’ve given Denara more credit for her way with words, honestly. No sooner had she talked them all around when it came to taking in travellers than she was pushing for something else: eggs.

Hatchlings. He positively vibrated with distaste for the idea, but, as Inerri gained strength, they managed to convince him of a few things. Firstly, that he wouldn’t necessarily have to be involved in any education of hatchlings. Second, that they probably wouldn’t all stay with the clan, other wandering groups were appearing slowly in the woods, looking to set up a lair nearby. They would no doubt be worth pursuing as allies since that’s better than enemies, and what better way to forge friendships than by sending the founding children off to another clan? And thirdly, that one of them might be a suitable heir to the leadership role Venin was so uncomfortable with.

Well. Denara joked about it being a ceremonial event, the laying of the first clutch, something about how it was a proper declaration that these were their lands. It didn’t feel ceremonial to Venin. In fact, after the magic dissipated and the eggs were settled in the nest Denara had put together, it all felt mostly like disappointment waiting to happen.

The way Denara looked at the eggs though… It was odd. And it prompted Venin to ask the first real question he’d posed to the Guardian. “Are you still looking for your Charge?”

Her head whipped up to regard him with shock. Why she should be surprised, he didn’t know, most dragons know about a Guardian’s Search. Still, she blinked at him for a long time before nodding.

“Yes,” she whispered, turning her gaze back to the nest. “Why do you ask?”

He hunched a shoulder. “I suppose it just occurred to me that you might be making these suggestions if you’re guided by that instinct. It made me wonder.”

She dipped her head closer to the nest. “It’s… different. For every Guardian. Some won’t feel any sort of satisfaction until they find it, until they reach that end goal. I get these…” Her shoulders shivered. “Tingles, I suppose they are. Down my spine. It’s anticipation that makes my nerves feel electric any time I get closer. Like my body is telling me which way to go, letting me know I’m close. This… is another step. I can feel it.”

–

The first dragons to pass them by did so about a week after that. All four of them were on edge, waiting for the eggs to hatch, not paying a great deal of attention to what was happening outside the den. When Norok sat up, crests shaking unhappily, they all looked around.

“Someone is outside,” she told them in a low voice. “I can hear them.” She was instantly on alert, ready for a fight. Her leg had healed somewhat, but probably wouldn’t hold up in a protracted conflict. Neither that, nor Inerri’s insistence that they be polite to their first visitors seemed to hold much weight with her, however.

She was out of the den within moments.

It didn’t take much to get the rest of them outside, ready to pry Norok’s claws out of whoever proved to be the passers-by, but they didn’t need to. Aside from her crests fanning stiffly up and over the back of her neck – a clear warning – and her rigid posture, she didn’t appear to be about to rip into anyone. The Tundras were alarmed all the same, ears up, purple eyes wide, legs braced and ready to bolt at the first sign that Norok was a threat.

For good reason, probably, it took a moment for Venin to pick it out of all the fluff, but one of them was bodily shielding a smaller Tundra, probably no more than a few weeks old. Cautiously, he stopped beside Norok, hoping she’d interpret that as a sign to relax. She didn’t.

Thankfully, Denara took the lead. “Sorry,” she said with a reassuring smile. “We’ve been here only about a week. Someone is still a little wary of another clan trying to take it from us.”

Denara seemed to understand how Tundra society works, too, thank Shadowbinder. She very slowly edge towards the travellers, lowering her snout so they might familiarise themselves with her scent. Equally as wary, the larger of the two Tundras shuffled closer, ears twitching. They paused a moment like that and then backed away. Denara looked unperturbed so Venin counted it a success.

“We’re just looking for a suitable place to call home,” the other Tundra said quietly. “Could we pass through?”

“Of course, naturally,” Denara agreed. “And if you decide to live nearby do visit!” Venin didn’t really agree with the enthusiasm Denara threw into those words but he wasn’t going to argue with her either. Not worth it.

They nodded, body language visibly relieved, but thankfully they didn’t take Denara’s friendliness as an invitation to linger. They moved on almost immediately and the four of them went back to egg duty.

The Tundras did, however, visit again to inform them of the nice burrow they’d dug just a little to the south. That connection was fine so far as Venin was concerned. Friendly neighbours could only be a good thing, especially since it meant they could trade any unnecessary plant material for the occasional hunting trip into the lands around the Tundra den. And frequent contact between them meant it was less likely for the Tundras to forget them and turn to hostility.

It was a fairly warm day, not long after the initial visit from the Tundras, Denara was curled up and dozing around the clutch of three eggs in one of the rooms deeper into the den when it happened. How she didn’t notice the  first egg start rocking remained a mystery, but Venin poked his head in to ask if she wanted to eat and instead froze solidly to the spot, completely unsure what to do about the egg tilting back and forth dangerously in the circle of Denara’s tail. So he swatted at her face with his, waking her with a start.

“That’s rude,” she grumbled. “I… Oh.”

The egg wobbled and on a particularly violent rock, rolled right on over. Cracks spider-webbed across its softly glowing surface and eventually the end snapped off. A tiny little blue tail flopped out. Then a leg kicked free, the small black claws scrabbling in the dirt for purchase. A vibrant purple wing broke through one side and a head pushed through with it. After a few more moments of fighting with the shell, a whole, healthy little Mirror sat in the ruins. Denara brushed the eggshells into a pile off to one side and lowered her nose. (Venin pretended not to know she kept the broken eggshell of their first born in a little chest in her bedding.)

“A little girl,” she mumbled when the hatchling took a swipe at her chin. “Feisty.”

By the time the other two eggs had cracked open and spilled two more purple Mirrors into the nest, the girl had wobbled upright and trotted clumsily over to Venin. She fell face first into his leg, already chattering some nonsense to him in an excited voice. Venin had to loop his tail around her to keep her from scampering out into the lair proper. Already he didn’t like having to keep an eye on these tiny dragons.

“The others are boys,” Denara informed him. Her head tilted to the side, an expression Venin knew well, thoughtful and vaguely conniving, twisting at her lips. “Perhaps we could send one of the boys to live with our Tundra neighbours? They have a little girl.”

If Venin had eyes he would’ve rolled them.

Denara merely laughed. “The firstborn stays with us. Who knows, grumbles, maybe one day she’ll take your place as leader.”

He glanced down at her then, thinking about that. Perhaps Denara had a valid point there. “And the other boy?” he asked without looking up from the girl. His daughter. “I don’t want a lair full of hatchlings, Denara. We have three and already they prove troublesome.”

She lifted a paw to scoop him and his brother closer. They squawked, indignant at being confined. They had only just fought free of the eggshell and clearly they wanted to see the world that had birthed them.

“Oh…” she sighed. “I’m sure we can find a place for him. It’s a big world, Venin.”

And wasn’t it just. Too big for such tiny dragons, he thought. His eyes strayed back to the girl, now gnawing on the end of his tail with her hard gums. Her teeth would push through soon enough. An heir would be nice.

–

It took a little under a week before all four of them declared her an unfit candidate for leadership. She was bold and sneaky, fast and slippery, wild and uncontainable. Venin would’ve put it down to her age; she was only an infant, after all. But her brothers weren’t anywhere near as unruly. And neither was that young Tundra girl, only a few weeks older, when she accompanied her father for the next visit. They took one of the boys home, too.

The other boy left too, claimed by a clan who passed through the strait between them and the Labyrinth. A water clan, heading for the Sea and only too pleased for an ally in the Woods where produce was different to their own wares; a promising trade arrangement.

That left them with this girl, bounding about their lair, new and sparse, still small and cold, not yet a home despite Inerri’s best efforts. This child who could be heir to something worthwhile one day, if he let her. If she lived up to it. Despite the quiet promise of days to come, Venin couldn’t help but watch Inerri flit around after his remaining child and feel as if his life had taken a turn he wasn’t yet ready for.

A hopeful sort of melancholy, perhaps, resigned to new dragons and (Shadowbinder forbid) new hatchlings, he named his daughter Bereave. Denara didn’t even argue.

– 

–

In hindsight, the location they selected as a site for a lair should’ve been all the warning they needed that they would get plenty of travellers through. It didn’t bother Denara so much, really, the greatest issue was making sure Bereave stayed safe around strangers (a not insubstantial challenge) and keeping the lair safe. The former was predominantly left to Inerri whose patience ran much longer than Denara’s or Norok’s which was fine because they got to take care of the latter concern. Plus she actually liked hatchlings which helped.

At first, it was no problem. Perhaps it was just the two of them, but the lair was well situated and easily defensible. There was only one entrance to the lair proper and most of the guests weren’t allowed there, instead they got to sleep in the shelters she and Norok constructed outside. Less substantial, sure, but no one stayed long enough to have anything to complain about. Even though the lair was positioned near enough to the northern border of the Woods that they had more than the occasional guest, most individuals were polite enough, leaving supplies in exchange for a place to sleep and a conversation. Venin didn’t much like them, but he didn’t much like anyone, and he barely interacted with them anyway, leaving the vast majority of formal socialising to her.

Every few days someone would arrive and someone would leave. It became routine. And it was that ennui almost that continually reminded her that her Search had not concluded with the birth of her daughter. The itch had faded somewhat after she hatched, sure, but that irritating tingle down her spine persisted. She wasn’t finished, but Denara was convinced she was in the right place.

Eventually, there came a dragon who visited the lair who didn’t leave again.

Venin was more irritable than normal that day, but no matter his mutterings, neither Denara nor Inerri would let a hatchling – a _hatchling_ , Venin! – leave by himself. The little Wildclaw boy had trotted into their lair confidently, led by Bereave no less, and at first they’d assumed his family would appear to join him only they never did. His broad smile and glimmering eyes suggested he wasn’t concerned about it and he seemed nice enough, despite Venin just about bristling with distaste for him.

They talked him down, they always did and the Wildclaw introduced himself brightly as, “Chevron! From the Hewn City!” His origin had Venin pursing his lips with distaste – for the stories of what lies in the ruins of the City, not because of the element of his birth – but the rest of them dismissed his fears.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have, for two days later they found Chevron with a satchel of their supplies and gold thrown over a shoulder on his way out of the lair. Venin very nearly launched him into the strait then and there. But when pressed for his motives he crumbled. Denara cut an imposing figure when she wanted to.

“They took my family,” he told them softly in the glow of a fire that evening. He never once made eye contact. “They burned out lair to the ground and my mother told me to run so I did. She…” He trailed off, looked away. When he lifted his bright eyes and stared directly at Venin’s masked face he looked more mature and determined than he had during the rest of his stay. Denara wondered momentarily what he’d seen. “They caught me and took me back. My parents were gone. They…” His jaw clenched. “Killed them. The leader had turned their crests into trophies like with the rest of our clan. They made me steal for them. I…”

“Stay,” Norok interjected when he clearly couldn’t find the words to go on. “We’ll teach you to fight. And if they come for you here… They’ll regret it.” Her tone was so low, harsh. Denara recalled how her clan had been overrun by raiders and they’d left her an orphan too.

She nodded her head and Chevron stayed.

“But if you must steal,” Venin added after a moment. “You will not steal from our coffers.” He put a strange emphasis on ‘ _ours_ ’ that Denara couldn’t interpret until Chevron beamed a bright and untrustworthy smile at him. It translated in her head to a job offer, a way for the boy to make himself useful. That was as good an endorsement as Venin was likely to give.

He got better at supporting new arrivals as they went along. Or perhaps he got better at leaving them to others. Hard to say. His lack of interest in running their new clan was obvious, he exuded distaste for the task, but every time someone presented a tale of disenfranchisement or loss he grew quietly protective of them. His vocal disapproval of Chevron’s slippery sticky fingers was one thing, but should a guest threaten the boy Venin’s wrath would come down on them like a bolt of thunder direct from the Tempest Spire.

(Bereave, for her part, loved having someone around her own age. Unfortunately for them all, adding Chevron to the mix was throwing sparks on oil. Bereave taught him tricks of the shadows to better slink around the lair and he… he taught her magic. In that regard it was the proper beginning of their clan, the first real mage in their ranks. None of them knew what that would mean for them, and had they, nothing would’ve really changed. But he taught her to tap into her own magical talents and how to use them. He told her about gifts from the deities, and she stood on the highest branch of the great tree she could reach and begged the Shadowbinder to give her long legs like Chevron’s. She came back to the den one afternoon with a pretty purple plume on her tail tip and a brilliant crest on her head and Chevron very nearly lost his place in the clan.)

Not long later another hatchling arrived, this one larger and from much further off, his scales glittered so brightly even in the gloom of the woods but he was warm and kind, his pale eyes begging the question of how he crossed most of continental Sornieth from the Icefield to reach them. But he introduced himself as Crossfire and asked if he might stay a while; Inerri loved him fiercely right from the start, loved his messy green mane and the careful way he used his paws to investigate new things and the shy smile he offered her when she asked for his help in tempering the other children.

He, too, turned out to be an orphan. No one had thought to offer him a home before and he hadn’t thought to ask, had thought only of seeing the place his kind hails from. He missed, but once he learned to fly better he could visit. Alone of the three hatchlings, he took to the studies Inerri insisted on, but somehow he inspired the other two to join in. No doubt they didn’t want to be outshone. Metaphorically speaking.

And Crossfire was integral to the arrival of the next dragon. Without him, things would’ve gone much differently. She was brought to the lair, not like how Bereave had brought Chevron, but brought by strangers. Denara immediately didn’t like them, and neither did Norok, in fact, the angry Mirror just about ripped their throats out when they quietly asked what their best price would be for the girl. Slavers.

Denara stopped her, but from the way Venin’s body tightened he would’ve let her kill them. Maybe Denara shouldn’t have held Norok back, but she alone seemed to feel that the little Imperial had been traumatised enough already. The slavers were chased from the area with a stern warning that should they return they would not receive the same mercy twice.

Venin disappeared into the Woods for a few days after that and Denara pretended she didn’t know why.

The blue Imperial remained completely silent for at least two days after that. No matter Inerri’s careful ministrations to ensure she was healthy. No matter the quiet words of reassurance Denara offered. No matter the furious way Norok vibrated with rage on her behalf well into the next week.

No, it was Crossfire who sat with her in that same silence for hours. He brought her food and made sure she drank and was warm enough in the chill of the main room of the lair. He whispered his name to her, explained what he knew of how the lair came to be, told her some of the stories Norok shared of Venin and his exploits before the clan. He never pressed her, his patience far beyond anything Denara could muster.

“Should we try and find her family?” Denara asked Inerri one evening, frustrated that the child remained a mystery. “Surely they’d have more success than we are.”

“We can’t really spare someone to go looking.” Inerri was clearly overlooking the fact that Venin had been gone for three days by that point. “She’ll be okay. She just needs time. The poor thing probably isn’t sure we’re not going to hurt her too.”

When Venin arrived again the next morning he stood in the main room watching the girl carefully. Or Denara assumed that’s what he was doing. He had no eyes, she knew, that’s why he never took the mask off. But the children didn’t know that.

Bereave came bounding into the room hooting, obviously she’d seen her father return. “Seven!” she exclaimed, just about slamming into his knee and bowling him over. She waved a hand towards the Imperial. “Seven!”

Crossfire muttered something Denara couldn’t hear but it was clearly enough to spark an argument with Bereave. They exchanged a few more words before Bereave waved her arms unhappily. She threw a claw out, pointing at Venin when Crossfire stopped speaking.

“One,” she cried, still indicating her father. With another vague wave of her claws she added, “two, three, four,” then pointed to herself, “five,” then Crossfire, “six,” and lastly, “ _seven_!”

“She hasn’t taken as well to your lessons with numbers as we thought,” Denara grumbled at Inerri. The Fae only laughed.

And that’s how the blue Imperial claimed her name. Despite being the eighth dragon in the lair, and not the youngest besides, she ran with it. She was the quietest of all the children, the least troublesome, the gentlest and most thoughtful. She kept clear of Chevron and Bereave for the most part, their antics too loud and disruptive for her, instead she stayed fast by Crossfire’s side. Chevron would grow soft whenever he thought no one could see him talking to her, his voice less abrasive than usual, his smile more genuine.

It occurred to Denara that they were fully living up to the beliefs Venin had laid out originally. A place for those with nowhere else to go, whether because their clans crumbled, they were orphaned, exiled, criminals or haunted by wrongdoings. She couldn’t help but wonder if her failure to find her Charge meant she fit in perfectly with those criteria. Some Guardian she was without one. Only Venin suspected that their budding clan wasn’t all there was to it, however. Something she planned to keep to herself.

And it was fitting, perhaps, that the next dragon to stumble into their lands wasn’t really lacking places to go, exactly, he was just _lost_.

It was a quiet evening, dark even for the Woods, the mushrooms dormant in the cold, their glow smothered by the low temperature. Rustling brambles were a staple, but something about the disturbances outside on this particular evening had Norok noticeably anxious. She couldn’t stop shuffling, her crests twitched ceaselessly and Chevron’s ghost story about the Emperor beneath the Beacon, trapped by the Lightweaver because not even she could defeat it, wasn’t helping any.

Eventually Bereave rocketed up out of the place she had claimed hours earlier, her drowsiness banished by the movement. “That’s it,” she declared. “Can’t take it.” Without waiting to explain her words she raced up out of the den and into the brambles.

Venin was on his feet in an instant, but not before Norok. She took off after Bereave but didn’t make it far at all, skidding to a stop just before she stepped outside. Bereave, scuffed and now covered in brambles and something that looked like moss, reappeared at the top of the entrance. She was dragging behind her a writhing mass of dark scales and tan leather. Denara stood as well.

But when Bereave reached them again the struggling creature stopped moving altogether, blinking pale green eyes up at them and shivering, whether from fear or the cold was impossible to say. Probably both given the fierce glare Norok was levelling at the Spiral Bereave had found.

“He was tangled in the brambles outside,” she huffed, sinking back down by the fire. “Wouldn’t stop struggling.”

He recovered fast though. And damn did he move quickly. His body coiled in strange, dizzying ways, darting around the room and pulling away from Norok with surprising agility.

“Name,” Venin demanded wearily. His tone was almost enough to make Denara laugh, actually, so resigned to new dragons rolling into the lair and refusing to leave by this point he sounded more annoyed than angry. Progress really.

“Helix, sir!” the Spiral babbled, almost his words made no sense.

Venin bobbed his head and sat back down. “Are you hungry, Helix?” Inerri asked from her place atop Crossfire’s head. A position she favoured more as he grew.

“Oh yes please. Sorry to intrude, I don’t know how I got here. Actually where is this? I’m very sorry I don’t mean to be an inconvenience. I got caught in a storm and it, whew! It blew me well off course I’d say. First time flying and everything! Mother did say to be careful of the winds. Even away from the Crescendo there can be shockingly strong gusts and wow, it tossed me right across the Sea and I was so disoriented I just flew. Guess I went in the wrong direction, did you say where we are? Did I make it all the way to the Labyrinth? No I suppose not the trees here aren’t really green enough. Ah! The Tangled Woods then, well that makes sense. Probably not worth trying to get home either, wandering clan and all that. My family will have moved on, might even be in a different region altogether! Terrible luck, maybe I can find a caravan or something and go exploring! Oh exploring sounds fun. Do you know any trade routes near–”

“Take a breath, kid,” Venin huffed, cutting Helix off quite tidily. The Spiral simply stopped speaking mid-word. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

“Oh really, sir? That’d be lovely thanks so much, I don’t want to be a bother but it’s nice to have a place to stay. And it really is a nice place here, good for burrowing; yes some of that rock over there looks excellent for carving away you could get some wonderful spaces in. I wonder how deep those veins go, could be proper mining potential, might be valuable ores even, a great oppor–”

“We’ll have to work on your train of thought, dear,” Inerri added. “You talk like an excited Snapper. Sure you’re not an Earth dragon?”

“No, certainly not,” Helix began, very obviously ready to launch into a full account of his pure wind lineage but Norok interjected with, “She was teasing.” Maybe her words were a little harsher than necessary but Norok did have a short leash on her anger.

And despite his tendency to run off onto long tangents or get excited babbling about certain topics, Helix was a perfectly useful dragon to have around. He was right about the burrowing options in their den, for starters. After bothering Venin entirely more than the grumpy dragon could stand, Helix set to work expanding a few areas for better living arrangements.

Venin rested his head on Denara’s shoulder like he might against a wall the same afternoon Helix began digging. It was a more intimate gesture than she was expecting.

“Shadowbinder preserve me, Denara, I’m so tired. Hatchlings are _exhausting_. How did you talk me into this?”

“I’m very persuasive,” she chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”

“The hatchlings outnumber us,” he hissed, tail swishing unhappily.

“But it’s working out well enough so far, really,” she pointed out. “I’m sure as they get older they’ll find proper ways to contribute. Chevron will be a huge asset for funds and you know it. That’s why you let him stay.”

Venin sighed, grumbling nonsense under his breath. He straightened, huffing to show he wasn’t placated. But he didn’t argue, which was the important thing. Despite his clear discomfort at the number of young dragons he was _trying_.

And for a while it worked just fine. The children did their lessons, helped with chores, took to various tasks with differing levels of enthusiasm. (Bereave showed much more interest in hunting and fighting than Denara might like, as a mother.) But as far as young clans went, theirs wasn’t doing horribly.

And then in the dark of one drizzly night, Fiend showed up.


	3. a fiendish arrival

It would be misleading, actually, to say Fiend _arrived_. That sounds so mundane, every day, unremarkable. And it was unfair to apply any of those adjectives to Fiend. She was anything but unremarkable.

Inerri was, at the time, the most superstitious dragon in the lair, and she’s not one for running her life based on portents or vague signs, but even she was shaken by the circumstances surrounding Fiend’s appearance. The night was darker than normal, even by the standards of the Tangled Woods, the air felt close and heavy, thick with rain, a steady downpour that left a chill in the bones. Their breaths misted in front of their face and the fire seemed somehow inadequate even indoors. They were all curled up in the main room, ignoring the soft howling of the wind through the spindly trees outside. Everything about the evening seemed like something Chevron would conjure for his horror stories.

They should have honestly known better. But then again, Helix had arrived in the dark of early twilight and that had turned out just fine. So perhaps the precedent had left them complacent. Perhaps it had left them thinking that anyone who found shelter in a clan founded on the principle of aiding those beset by misfortune would be grateful for a new start. There really was no way to know what would come of the night’s events.

If only there had been.

Fiend was carried into the clan’s territory by a young Snapper, and it was not done quietly. The ruckus they made prompted Denara to stick her nose out into the cold evening to see what was rousing the forest. The Snapper made no attempt to conceal himself, merely trudged towards the lights flicking in the den’s entrance. His steps were weary, heavy as if he hadn’t slept in a long time; his eyes drooped and his entire stocky frame shook. Whether from the cold or exhaustion was hard to say but both no doubt contributed.

He barely made it to the den; knees wobbling a few feet from them and his legs gave out, depositing both him and the broken Ridgeback he bore on the ground in a heap. Denara made the call to bring them inside and at the time it was the logical decision. The knotted discomfort sitting in Inerri’s stomach was thanks entirely to the ominous weather and so she kept her quiet.

Silently wishing Venin would turn them away was not the same as actively sabotaging the newcomers. Which, in hindsight, Inerri fervently wishes she had done.

The Snapper heaved great big breaths once he was in the warmth of the den. He remained quiet as Venin and Denara bickered softly about whether they should be allowed to stay. In the end, it wasn’t much of a hard choice. Even Venin conceded that sending them back out into the inclement weather would be cruel.

“You can stay,” he grumbled to the Snapper. “Temporarily. You leave when she’s recovered.”

He got a terse nod from the Snapper, who introduced himself shortly as, “West,” and that was all. Even then his personality was brusque, abrasive, even for those who’d been living with Venin for the past months. West carried himself with a conservative confidence, his expressions ranged from completely blank to irritated with very little deviation.

When Denara made to help get his Ridgeback companion into the healing chamber they’d set aside since Bereave grew old enough to get herself into a scrap, he levelled her with a glare comprised of pure venom. It startled even Denara, who stood at least thrice West’s height, into stillness. With a little effort, West heaved the other dragon back up onto his shoulders and stumped into the room Inerri indicated.

She took solace only in the way Norok regarded them both with blatant distrust. “What kind of adolescents are out at this time of night, in this weather, and in such a state?” she hissed when West was gone from earshot. “They’ve _clearly_ been in a fight.”

“We don’t know who started it or why,” Denara pointed out tactfully.

Norok snorted but didn’t argue. She could’ve. They could have held a lengthy debate on it but they didn’t. Maybe they should’ve.

Maybe Inerri shouldn’t have treated the Ridgeback’s injuries. Maybe she should’ve let the wounds take their inevitably fatal toll.

Maybe if she was a more violent dragon she would’ve trusted her initial instinct and done just that. But she’s not and so she did her work, her _best_ work, ignoring the suspicious watch West kept of her. She blocked out the clacking of Norok’s claws as she paced outside, peeking in now and again to make sure things were going fine. She chased the youngsters away when they grew too curious. The way West tensed and snapped at them made her glad she didn’t let them linger. Especially Bereave, she was liable to agitate him beyond reason.

It was a long night.

Inerri slept long and deep once she’d patched the Ridgeback – West called her Fiend – up as best she could. Long and deep, however, did not in this case mean untroubled.

Miraculously, Fiend stirred the next afternoon. Inerri thought it incredible that she could seemingly shrug off her injuries in such a fashion. It should’ve taken her much longer to begin to recover. Inerri couldn’t say whether it was a blessing or a curse that she woke, but she did, and she was hungry. Her eyes were glassed blearily, but her features were sharp, body on edge and ready for a fight. That, on top of waking so soon after being helped, left Venin to whisper later about how she might be an asset. She was strong, fit, and fierce, she could take a hit; she might be useful.

Giving her an ounce of benefit had been a mistake they all regretted long after.

She spoke in terse, clipped sentences, giving away none of her background, no mention of family or clan or how they came to be injured in the Woods. Even then she played her cards close to the chest and her eyes darted between the four of them, wary, like a caged animal waiting for the trap to spring. Whenever her gaze landed on West, though, something almost seemed to pass between them. Inerri wasn’t alone in feeling like they were the ones being weighed, but what were two adolescents really?

Famous last words.

Venin gave them both permission to stay. At first this was only until Fiend recovered enough to travel. But then later it was contingent on them being useful. (And after that it was because he didn’t want her out of his sight, so to speak.)

If they’d known then what they were inviting into the lair, Inerri often wonders what they would’ve done about it.

Fiend did recover, rapidly, her capacity to bounce back from injuries was nothing short of incredible and Inerri’s continued care of her closing wounds and strengthening bones only made it more obvious. With her improving condition, however, came the slowly dawning realisation that she was not by any means a kind dragon. Her name, they learned, was perfectly apt. She was vicious and violent and rude, she hissed angrily whenever anyone dared approach her, her tail constantly twitching irritably as if she resented the very notion of being part of their clan.

At first it was small things. She was a skilled hunter, bringing food back to the lair after every outing, but her malicious cruelty was taken out on the animals. Inerri tried to pretend she didn’t know how Fiend made the creatures suffer before she put them out of their misery.

She hassled travellers, picking fights, breaking belongings and bones equally. Some would leave swiftly. Some didn’t leave at all.

She was a dragon so full of rage she practically vibrated angrily every moment she was awake. It became increasingly apparent that for their lair to have interactions with other dragons for trade or travel they would have to keep Fiend isolated.

It was one perfectly normal evening about a month after she and West had joined them that Fiend attacked Inerri. Fiend had over exerted herself, breaking open the last of her still mending injuries and despite her discomfort, Inerri had taken it upon herself to inspect and tidy the gash. As she finished adjusting the bandages, the twitching of Fiend’s tail increased and she lashed out, one clawed hand nearly ripping Inerri’s wing clean out of its socket. If she hadn’t been so small, so quick, she may not have survived the incident.

Despite being confronted by the others, not just Venin and Denara and Norok, but all of the steadily growing hatchlings, including Crossfire’s now impressive bulk, Fiend never so much as flinched. She showed no emotion at all. Merely sat quietly as Venin explained that what she’d done was inexcusable.

“Leave.” His tone brooked no argument. Even though he was smaller than her, softer, less pointy, she didn’t question his strength. Somehow, she just seemed to know that both Venin and Denara were some of those older dragons, the ones she could never hope to match. His tail swished across the hard packed ground. “You are not welcome.”

There was a heavy moment of silence before West spoke. “We have nowhere to go. We just need somewhere safe.”

“A home,” Fiend added in her soft, deadpan voice. “Somewhere to call our own.”

The way she phrased that sent a shiver down Inerri’s spine and she could tell from the way Venin’s claws shifted on the floor that he didn’t much like it either. It held a sort of promise. The kind that Fiend would never break. She was a threat and for the first time they all knew it, could see it plain as day. She was a hurricane ready to break them against rocky shores, a downpour fit to drown them.

Fiend was an honest to goodness disaster. Just waiting to happen.

And despite that, she could see in Venin’s posture that he wasn’t sure sending them away was the best idea. She could see in Denara’s eyes that she’d rather keep them close, where they could be watched and stopped if necessary. Inerri thought of the damage they might do to others if unleashed upon the world. She shivered again, burrowing further into Crossfire’s grassy mane.

Something in the room shifted then, as if the whole world had tilted, a shroud descended over them and the lamps flickered unhappily. Venin seemed bigger in the soft darkness; they gave him weight and power. He took a single step towards Fiend and she recoiled.

“If you harm a single member of my family,” he began in a voice that was both quietly menacing and imposing rumble, “you will not live to tell of it. You will remain distant from traders, you will not lay a claw on anyone calling our roof shelter and you will abide by my rules, whatever they be and however they change. If you cannot do this, you can leave right now and never come back.”

The air in the room _shook_ , tears welled up in Inerri’s eyes for some reason, her bones felt like they wanted to vibrate right on out of her body and crumble to dust. From the look on Fiend’s face, she could feel that too.

“Are we clear?” Venin asked.

He never spoke that much all at once and he was clearly done for the evening but he stood his ground. Whatever magic he’d wrought shimmered and faded when Fiend nodded, though.

“Crystal,” Fiend added in a low purr once the room had returned to normal. For the first time that evening, her lips curled up into a smile; or a parody of one at least. And for the first time, Inerri wished she could’ve inflicted harm upon a dragon. She should’ve let her die.

The entire lair kept a close eye on Fiend and West after that. Nothing they did was without scrutiny. But somehow they still managed to find ways to be awful without anyone noticing. A merchant went missing a few days later, as if Fiend was pointing out that Venin couldn’t actually stop her.

They went toe to toe a few times, but she always backed down. Always wore that ominous smile when she did. Testing him, finding his boundaries, _pushing_ , waiting for a mistake. West might’ve been less horrible but he helped her, _helped_ her steal children from nearby clans, dispose of travellers in imaginative ways. He was her silent shadow, never seeming to make an impact on the lair really but he was no less culpable for that.

(And much later, when they were older, Inerri found a speckled nest of eggs tucked away behind one of the gardens she was cultivating, in a darker place, hidden by the gloomy trees. At first she didn’t know what they were, where they’d come from. So she checked on them twice a day for the next week. And eventually, she found a clutch of brown and red children. Snappers and Ridgebacks all. She hoped Fiend didn’t know they were there, didn’t care perhaps. Inerri brought them food, _named_ them, wanted to send them off somewhere they would never know their parents and the darkness they carried. Instead she arrived one afternoon to find the nest bloodstained and the hatchlings gone.

She tried not to think too hard about what had happened to them, despite knowing full well their fate.)

Despite Fiend and West now lingering over the lair oppressively, other dragons continued to arrive. Many were travellers only, passers-by looking for a new clan or good location for a family. Some were merchants (and after the first few went missing they paid much better attention to them) and they brought the clan goods from afar. Sometimes they brought dragons.

And some of those dragons – perhaps in spite of Fiend and West – even stayed, becoming proper residents of the Reliquary.

Pencil was the first, a librarian from a clan who didn’t care a whit for books. She and Helix carved out a niche for her and between them they took over the education of hatchlings, the mail received from allied clans. Winter, an academic fleeing from a fate he wouldn’t disclose. He looked over his shoulder a lot at first, but in time became a trusted advisor for Venin, his grasp of politics and the running of a lair unmatched in their young clan. He was quiet but friendly and glad to have a place where his value wasn’t measured by his ferocity.

Tarryn, who didn’t so much ask to stay, but walked into the lair and made herself perfectly at home. She at first had seemed a promising option for healer, but her Plague heritage soon shone through and for the most part she was a true nightmare to have around, constantly running viral tests and pushing the limits of their immune systems. In the long run it was probably worth having her, but at the time it was mostly inconvenient. Then Callana, who Inerri knew Venin had thought he could be rid of eventually; she was the very essence of a Wind dragon with wanderlust, always on the move, coming and going without warning. She brought stories and history and sometimes trinkets, a well-liked dragon it was no surprise to them that she stayed (unfortunate for Venin though). What _was_ the surprise was that she stayed for Tarryn.

They did get healers, two of them! Jemma and Skye arrived within days of each other, one for physical maladies and the other for mental treatments. Aphid joined them, taking over the clan’s finances. Then Osprey who became their gentle gardener. Riverstone and Entropy, Nevermore and Yesterday, Unforgiven, Sketch, Fable, their lair expanded on an almost weekly basis.

Most of them enjoyed their growing family, even the struggles with space and food that such an occurrence demanded. Venin found it ridiculous. But honestly, as far as Inerri was concerned, there was safety in numbers. The more dragons there were, the harder it would be for Fiend to slaughter them all as they slept.

If only they’d known.


	4. housing for the state

Somewhere between the fifteenth and the fiftieth new face to move into the Reliquary’s lands, Venin realised their meagre resources and tiny plot of land would hardly suffice. Too many mouths to feed and not enough bedding. More or less. So it was with much reluctance that he and Denara announced a move.

Not that packing up his mob of unruly dragons was an easy task.

Their clan had expanded quite a bit more than any of them had really expected. There was an entire Vault now, full of the clan’s gold and trading resources, a garden full of foods that needed harvesting before they could leave, a properly stocked healer’s quarters that required cataloguing and careful packing. It was an honest trial to get all their belongings (for all individuals as well as those possessions used by the entire clan) squared away. And even once that was done, it was a daunting thought to stand in front of the public gathering area they’d cleared in the brambles where all the satchels and boxes and crates and chests were piled haphazardly together. Shadowbinder only knew how many trips it would take to carry everything to a new lair.

And that’s assuming they even find a lair. Becoming a travelling caravan of dragons looking for a place to settle did not sound appealing at all.

In the end, Aphid had almost all of the packing sorted all by herself. At some point when none of the founding dragons were paying attention – not meticulous Venin, not suspicious Norok, not curious Inerri nor careful Denara – magic had crept into the clan. Aphid and her magical ability to store well and truly more in a shoulder bag than should ever fit by any rights was just one example. Norok did not enjoy it at first, all the dragons with their strange magics arriving and wheedling into their family. In fact, by the time they even realised the mages they were attracting it was entirely too late and casters outnumbered those less inclined to the magical arts. Something about the lair felt different, too, with all the magic going on. Not a bad different, just… tingly.

Regardless of the now much more magical qualities their lair seemed to be taking on and whatever lingering effects it might have, the move surely benefited. Not only did Aphid get all the valuables from the Vault stored in a tidy way, but many of the other bags she also bestowed a similar enchantment on, allowing all of them to carry more than usual. Denara and Norok both insisted on flying with her, despite the fact she didn’t look as if she were carrying the entire clan’s cumulative fortune on her hip. The rest of their things was all tucked together and carted off by the larger dragons, and their growing population of familiars helped as well, where they could.

Then, of course, there was Pencil and the dilemma of having her extensive collection moved without anyone actually touching them. Yes that was a fun thing to organise. Poor Helix looked like a flying bookshelf with the number of tomes he carried dangling from his lanky form. It was a wonder he managed to take off at all. Thankfully, there were a few dragons Pencil reluctantly consented to help her. But still, it could’ve been less dramatic.

Really, they would’ve been quite a sight. This long caravan of travellers traipsing through the Tangled Wood in search of a home large enough to shelter them all.

And finding a new lair was nothing short of a miracle.

Many of their number kept together, travelling slowly for the youngsters and to keep damaging their property to a minimum. Rather than all of them wandering aimlessly (which would frustrate some of them to no end, _Norok_ ), the clan’s scouts searched out ahead of them every day. They probably should have found a new location before they left their old one, but it would’ve been impossible to guarantee a new location would still be available when the scouts returned and the clan ambled off. There was no good way to do this, Venin and Denara had concluded well before they left.

They could have been looking for months, or years even. Instead it took them a little over two weeks to uncover a location fit to alleviate their growing pains.

It was Piper; bless her wonderful eyes, that spotted a suitable area. They’d followed the coastline from their old home, hoping to keep the seaside feel and they weren’t disappointed. Sometime in the late afternoon, Piper, wearing a rare smile, alighted near Venin and shuffled her wings excitedly.

“Up ahead,” she informed him, her soft smile never wavering. “The coast turns into cliffs and forks out into the strait. It’s a peninsula. It seemed quite large from the air. Would you like me to do a proper check of the area?”

Musing a moment, Venin nodded. “Have Xenolith accompany you. Make sure the land isn’t claimed.”

Bobbing her head she took off again, hollering for Xenolith to follow her. The rest of them kept moving; even if it wasn’t a good place to move in, they needed somewhere to spend the night. Somewhere not out in the open. And given the late hour of the day they probably wouldn’t all get the chance to see it at least until the next day. That was providing they moved quickly enough, anyway. The more likely scenario was that the scouts and faster dragons would take off to put down markers and the rest of the clan wouldn’t arrive for a few more days, depending on how far away Piper’s peninsula was.

Piper returned, just as the clan began to set up a camp for the evening as the sun set over the trees. Twilight always cast the Woods in a strange light, as if nothing was real for a brief hour before darkness settled. She found him on the outskirts of their temporary home, without Xenolith, and shared what she’d found in a soft voice. “No clans have left marks there. Xenolith stayed behind to keep watch for anyone arriving.”

“How big is it?” he questioned.

Her lips curled up, possibly in a smile but the expanse of teeth might be mistaken for something else too. “Big. Plenty big enough for all of us and ten times the number of familiars we have currently.”

“Take Anthelion back with you,” he instructed. “Have her set up one of those magical barriers of hers. It wouldn’t do for us to come this far only to have it snatched out from under us.”

As Piper turned away again, the mutters of his clan talking about having a new home already began rippling through their number. With the talk, a flurry of activity picked up and some of them clearly decided that waiting was not an option. They leapt into the air with whatever they could carry, cutting the distance by flying. Venin sighed. With luck this whole tortuous endeavour would result in a lair they didn’t have to leave any time soon.

He was not disappointed.

The peninsula was gigantic. As the last of his clan trickled, a few days later, past the boundary Anthelion had established, Venin took off to get a sense of it from the air. Sheer cliffs bordered it on all sides and the path from the coast to the main mass was rather slender – a bridge almost – so it appeared to be sort of separate from the mainland.

The area was dominated primarily by trees, and Venin noted the proximity of this land to the borders with both the Shattered Plain to the west and the Labyrinth to the north. It must have been on a convergence of the three regions more or less. Which certainly explained the vibrant colour of the plant life. The flora was less tangled and gnarled, less grey and spindly; the Gladekeeper’s touch at work. The craggy faces of the cliffs and rich ground soil the work of Earthshaker.

On the north-eastern side of the peninsula, the trees gave way to grassy fields, perfect for a garden, perhaps. A spring welled up somewhere within the trees, little creeks flowing beneath the boughs to tip over the northern cliffs in a dozen or so tiny waterfalls. A rocky path wound around the outside, a natural formation that gave uneasy access to the crescent of white sand at the base. Several caves pocked the bottom, carved through the softer rock by the unceasing waves.

Yes, this was a good place.

And already the more industrial dragons were working out ways of constructing wooden pathways and shelters in the trees, nestled amongst the glittering green leaves and looping roots. They could make a home out of this place. He had little worry about that.


	5. the beastclans return

It was unanticipated by all: the rising of the beastclans.

In all the time they had been a clan, no one in the Reliquary had so much as seen one of the beastfolk. Consequently, when Minx and Kaolin returned from hunting with haunted expressions and bearing more injuries than usual, it was cause for shock. These beastfolk had maintained such a carefully constructed secret of their existence that it begged the question how exactly no one had ever noticed them. Of course, they had encountered the longneck tribes previously, and centaurs made their homes in the deep forests, but they had been for the most part peaceful. And a hand full of longnecks does not really hint at the true extent of the beastclans’ society.

At first nothing much changed. Hunters kept closer to the lair and non-combatants kept together, preferably with a warrior for protection, but life continued as normal. Until the beastfolk began to coordinate attacks anyway. Then it became far too hazardous to leave the peninsular.

Venin – naturally – quietly initiated defensive measures. Which more or less meant he put the clan on lockdown. Only those who could defend themselves were allowed to leave their borders and they had to travel in pairs. They were not to engage any of the beastfolk in any way, least of all combat. The warriors of the clan grumbled about this rule, unhappy that their talents were ‘being wasted’. This new rule made certain tasks difficult, trade and conversation were the first to suffer.

But it was better than conflict and Venin was by no means going to risk an outright war with the beastclans. That could only harm them. Establishing lines of contact and trade, however, proved difficult to say the least.

Any attempt to broach a dialogue with the local beastfolk clans was shut down swiftly and often violently. The clan’s healers had their work cut out for them for a while. As long as the clan’s leaders continued to press for a conversation regarding peaceful relations, the warriors would return to the lair bloodied and frustrated.

Skirmishes with them became frequent, several members were wounded badly and the clan ceased all trade with the outside, living only on what they could obtain themselves. For a while, they were on rations, everything was limited. The number of hatchlings born in the clan declined. Travellers no longer stopped by for a chat, for trade or to stay a while.

Everything shut down.

Which, perhaps, was what the beastfolk wanted. Any dragon clans who were not eager to launch into a prolonged conflict with the beastfolk had two options; seek the protection of a more combat oriented allied clan, or withdraw into themselves. Many clans selected the first option as the second meant that produce and other goods would be scarce and no clan is entirely self-sufficient. Besides, without contact with other clans, long-term survival was not guaranteed.

Needless to say, the atmosphere within the Reliquary grew tense. Some wanted to contact a militant clan and request some sort of alliance, others (notably Minx) thought it best to tackle the problem head on and simply join the battle against the beastfolk. Norok advocated for combat, and she was the most obviously irritated by the stalemate Venin had established.

“We can’t cower here,” she could often be heard grumbling. But the overwhelming majority of the clan did not wish to enter a lengthy scuffle. They didn’t have the resources alone and Venin in particular wanted only peace.

Few dragons left the lair for two long and frustrating months.

And then one clear afternoon, a shower had just passed, leaving everything smelling of hope, Feldspar wandered across the bridge to the mainland. He had been taking the familiars of the lair out for various reasons on a rotation to keep them from going stir-crazy. Venin had deemed it perfectly legitimate for him to travel alone but the familiars since they were capable of defending themselves and all were loyal to the Reliquary. Plus he didn’t have to go far really, most of them would scamper off on their own and return to him at the bridge onto the peninsula.

Mostly. Some required a little more effort.

For instance: on this particular day his companions were an elk and two kamaitchis. The kamaitachis were after herbs and hurried off together into the trees to seek out the fungus they required. They could take care of themselves. The elk, however, a pretty animal, stuck with Feldspar, relying on the Guardian’s size to deter any non-Reliquary aligned predators who might mistake it for an easy meal.

It was a nice day for a walk, honestly. So Feldspar moseyed around a little, keeping the elk within view at all times to be safe. But the air had that nice after-rain smell and the leaves were cool against his scales. He should’ve been paying more attention.

Neither of them saw the herd of centaurs before they descended; shouting and brandishing their weapons. Three arrows and four spears were aimed at Feldspar’s face before he could do more than widen his eyes in shock. Another centaur approached the elk, soothing it with gentle words.

“How dare you attack a harmless creature, beast,” one male centaur growled at him.

“Despicable,” a second agreed.

He shook his head gently. “That’s not…”

“Spare us your lies, dragon,” a female cut in harshly. “You can’t fool us.”

Feldspar blinked. Before he had a chance to speak again, the elk trotted over to him, nudging his cheek gently. He glanced at it, big brown eyes shining softly.

The centaurs remained silent, uncertain now.

“He is not attacking the elk,” muttered the centaur female in the back. She alone of them was unarmed. “He was… keeping it safe.”

The male who’d spoken first grimaced, twisting his grip on the spear. “Preposterous.”

“I don’t mean any harm,” Feldspar explained quietly. “I will not fight you.”

Slowly, the unarmed centaur pushed her way to the front, one hand lowering the spear still held in his face. “You are not… Not our enemy?”

“No,” he replied. “I am no one’s enemy.”

The centaur eyed him appraisingly. “What is your name, dragon?”

“Feldspar.”

“Do you come from a clan of peaceful dragons?”

He bobbed his head. “More or less. None of us wish a war with you. Though I fear some of our number would not hesitate to join the fray if given an excuse.”

“You have a solution?”

He chanced a small smile. “I don’t know about a _solution_. But… Communication seems like a good start, don’t you think? We’re more than happy to share our resources. Trade is good for all.”

At that, a ghostly smile flickered across her face. “I am called Bryn,” she eventually told him. “And communication is as good a place to begin as any on the road to peace.”

One of the females behind her whispered something, probably in their native language rather than the shared tongue. Bryn merely shook her head. Feldspar watched as something among them shifted. All bar that first male seemed to relax slightly.

“Would you accept me as an ambassador, Feldspar?” Bryn questioned.

“I am not in charge of the clan,” he explained. “But I would be honoured to accompany you to see our patriarch. He will give you an audience.” As he spoke, the kamaitachis slipped out of the underbrush to join them, not seeming to care about the centaurs. They merely dropped their bag at his feet, expecting him to carry it home.

The centaurs – all of them, even Bryn – seemed stunned when he simply collected the sack between his teeth and turned away, heading back to the Reliquary. Bryn was, however, plenty quick in catching up.

Bryn was the first of the beastfolk to join the Reliquary, a steadfast friend to Feldspar and vocal advocate for more representatives to join the clan. And slowly, more beastclan representatives did come to live beneath their trees. The harpies and the longnecks and the maren, all. Eodri, one of the raptorik bonded with Norok over battle tactics and remains unwaveringly faithful to their clan.

It is a start. And Feldspar continues to dedicate himself to keeping the peace they’ve found.


	6. formation of the assembly

“Housing for the beastfolk is impossibly tight at the moment; we need some sort of construction for them. Unless it’s alright for them to clear spaces as they need?”

“With new mouths to feed – familiar now, not just visitors and extra hatchlings – we’re sorely low on supplies. We absolutely must send ambassadors and traders to gather more resources. Osprey’s garden isn’t enough at the moment.”

“Hunters are still being hassled by beastfolk; this _peace_ we’re supposedly establishing with them doesn’t seem to have gotten around yet.”

“It’s worse than that! Even though the lockdown is over, many of us still can’t get far from the lair without being troubled by beastfolk who either don’t know we’re friends, or don’t care. We need something more organised to work through this.”

“Something odd has been happening recently; it’s like Anthelion’s barrier is acting up. Heaps of dragons have been talking about the weird tingly sensation and some of the visitors mentioned an almost ominous feeling when they arrive, it’s scaring folks, we have to get this sorted.”

“Tarryn released one of her viruses into the water I guess. All the hatchlings have thick purple blotches. They think it’s funny!”

Even including just the permanent residents, the Reliquary was pushing eighty dragons by this point. And with the recent inclusion of dozens of beastfolk, all with individual needs – new and challenging ones that no dragons had considered before – the lair was overtaxed. Its resources thin from being so withdrawn recently and everyone was running low on patience. Though many of the residents who’d been with them longer knew better than to ambush Venin alone to talk about their problems, even being cornered with Denara as backup had grown frustrating.

“We can’t keep going like this, Denni,” Venin huffed, pacing restlessly across the leaves in the darker parts of the forest. “The two of us can’t field all these problems. Not and come up with solutions that everyone is happy with.”

“Would you stop?” Denara laughed. “You’re giving me conniptions.”

He huffed again. “When you talked me into this nonsense this is not what I had in mind.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind? A nice quiet five dragon lair somewhere without interaction with anyone else?”

“Exactly that, yes. How about we try that?”

“Or…” she began, sing song. “And hear me out: we try fixing the problems we have now.”

His crests ruffled, shaking with his shoulders as he shuddered dramatically. Only Denara ever got to see him so casual with his words and behaviour. It was a privilege she quite enjoyed. “That sounds like a disaster.”

“I didn’t say you and I had to be the only ones working on the issues.”

Venin paused in his pacing. The tassels on his mask swayed as he tilted his sightless gaze in her direction. “What do you mean? Who else would be involved?”

Denara swished her tail around to brush reassuringly against his. “We have a lot of dragons now, and many of them have been with us a while. Some of them even have specialised areas of expertise. What I’m _saying_ is that maybe we hand all duties pertaining to protecting the lair and hunting for meat over to Norok.”

His head jerked back in an almost offended motion. “She’d start a war with the beastfolk in ten minutes.”

“You’re forgetting that she has Daeddrin,” she pointed out. “He’s very good with plans and keeping the peace. Also Eodri is with her now; he at least does _not_ want war with his own peoples. Give her time and a little credit.”

For a good long minute, Venin turned that idea over in his head. Denara watched him carefully, noting when his shoulders relaxed a little and the tuft on his tail flicked gently in a way she knew meant that he wasn’t stressed anymore.

“Alright,” he conceded, turning fully to face her. “So Norok gets free rein to protect the lair however she sees fit. That solves a few of our problems, but not the issue of how to field all the issues residents have in ways that most are happy with.”

Denara sat back on her haunches, one claw running carefully over the surface of her pearl. “Well. Our dilemma is that there are a lot of dragons and only the two of us. What if we had more dragons to hear out the problems? More minds means more angles.”

“More arguments,” he grumbled.

“Or we hear out more solutions to a problem and can therefore solve it in everyone’s best interests?”

“That’s optimistic, Denara.”

She sighed. “Look, we all have our different strengths. And I’m not saying we should put Tarryn on a council of any kind, nor our troublesome daughter. But it might be good to include Winter and Inerri, perhaps Cross?”

After a beat he added, “Feldspar has the ear of the beastfolk.”

“Right!”

He hesitated, the twitch in his tail more irritated this time and Denara knew that if he were any other dragon he would be making a distasteful face. “A… council?”

“To help run the lair. To delegate tasks and keep everyone from bringing all their little issues to you.”

It took him another long moment of stillness. Then he sighed again, clearly relenting. “Alright. Let’s see how this goes.”

She knew he wanted a proper heir, a dragon to truly inherit the clan’s leadership position. No matter if they created a council; Denara knew that everyone would still see him as their leader, the one in charge. How that had come to pass when he was so reluctant and grumpy about it was anyone’s guess.

But still, steps must be taken. Little ones, stumbling and unsure, naturally.

Creating a council did not come easy. Nor was it quick or without detractors and obstacles. For the most part, the dragons she and Venin had concluded would be a good fit for such a task were pleased to find they could help the clan. (Norok excepted, the only reason she agree was because, “Well, no one else will do it right.”)

No, the two biggest problems were first, getting everyone into a setting and mood to talk out the issues at hand. And second, keeping the beastfolk placated. There were no beastfolk on the list of councillors and that was cause for frustration. Denara understood where it came from, of course, but until they knew which of the familiars in their clan would be of benefit in a discussion like this, she thought it best – _safer_ – to keep them at somewhat of a distance. The inclusion of Feldspar as ambassador to the beastfolk and Bryn as his companion were a small step, but hardly enough to satisfy them completely. Understandably.

Winter, in his capacity as an advisor, often got side tracked during discussions and could babble for ages if he got excited. This annoyed Norok who would proceed to get waspish and snappy with him, occasionally she would simply leave, hindering anything that might require her input. Conversely, Inerri and Seven were, both, too softly spoken, too quiet and ready to let others talk over them. In Seven’s case that was an expected hurdle, but Inerri had always been quite willing to offer insight when it had just been her, Norok, Venin and Denara. So perhaps it was the larger setting or that there was perhaps more riding on the decisions they came to.

Whatever the case, they had many problems to iron out among themselves before any real progress could be made. Denara found herself playing mediator to any number of disagreements between them too, not just the other residents. And, _of course_ , no sooner had they figured a solution to one issue than another took its place.

It didn’t take them long, really, to conclude that even with a council, there were some things simply overlooked.

Oh, some things were sorted and properly delegated, sure. Things such as appointing Seven and Crossfire to handle any questions or concerns from visitors, which freed up the others for other issues. And they took to their jobs so well, Crossfire even went so far as to voluntarily act as an ambassador to other clans. The formation of some of their strongest alliances was thanks to him.

Feldspar’s work with the beastfolk and other creatures of the lair was equally well handled. Between him and Bryn communication became a lot smoother and more honest.

But then there were the witches of the lair. That problem folks kept commenting on about how the lair _felt funny_ could be neither substantiated nor fixed. If indeed there was anything to fix. The lair’s use of magic had increased drastically since they began and it often resulted in unforeseen issues, the kind that would throw a damper on other plans or make travellers vaguely uncomfortable.

They all sort of silently agreed to ignore any magical weirdness that arose. If it wasn’t killing anyone, then it wasn’t an emergency.

And if mysterious deaths did start occurring? Well. They all sort of assumed that was a bridge they’d burn when they got to it.

They did burn plenty of bridges too. Merchants who stopped trading with them because of their peaceful agreements with the beastfolk and clans who realised the Reliquary maintained a pacifistic nature despite having capable warriors. They lost several residents, even, to choices the council made in the beginning. But at least they _left_ and didn’t start a coup.

Eventually, the council gained traction and figured out how best to handle situations and make decisions amongst themselves. Practice, and all that.

But as time passed, the beastfolk and familiars of the clan demanded more than just a representative (and a _dragon_ at that) to speak for them. They wanted to be heard themselves.

And didn’t _that_ take some doing.


	7. the federation

No proper meeting location for the council had been established. Not in months. But there were caves in the cliff sides, and one of these opened up overlooking the strait to the north. It connected to the rest of the cave system and had access to the surface, but this was a public space. For whatever reason, it somehow became the default location for those who wanted to find one of the new councillors and have a conversation. So, naturally, it was also where they all gathered once a week or so to discuss whatever needed… well… discussion.

The fact that quite a significant portion of the beastfolk in the clan were uncomfortable with the caverns was completely accidental and should by no means be an indication that the clan had tried to keep them out of the decision making. Or at least Seven sure hoped that was not the case. She quite liked some of the beastfolk who’d come to live with them, not that there were many at the moment, sadly, but she did like them. Bryn especially had been very kind to her.

So when Seven stepped into the cavern looking for Aphid and instead found a rather uncomfortable looking Bryn tapping a hoof against the stone it was quite a shock. At her side were another centaur, an irritated looking male; and a very bouncy harpy. A _male_ harpy, Seven noted with even more surprise.

“Hello, Bryn,” she began, hunkering down so she seemed less of a threat.

Before she could get another word out, the irate centaur cut in. “Look, dragon, we’re just here to talk about this council of yours. It’s not right with all that imbalance in representatives.”

Bryn laid a hand on his arm, silencing him, but Seven heard his teeth click and grind with frustration. “What Alar is trying to say is that we’ve all been talking.”

“Please clarify _all_ ,” Seven requested softly, not wanting to interrupt but needing more information.

“The beastfolk in the lair,” Bryn elaborated. “And all the other creatures as well. We appreciate being considered part of the Reliquary, it’s a great step to living in harmony, but we need more organisation and cooperation.”

Seven paused, eyes shifting to the harpy – he was new, she’d never seen him before – and then back to Bryn. “You have a proposal, I take it?”

She nodded. “We do. Honestly, Alar doesn’t feel the need to ask your council for permission. It’s more or less completed on our end, but we did have a request.”

Seven bobbed her head, thinking on Bryn’s words. It took a moment but eventually what Bryn was saying clicked. “Oh! You’ve formed a collective for all the non-dragon residents of the clan! That’s a wonderful idea.”

The angry centaur – Alar – seemed taken aback by her positive response.

“Oh, that’s such a good plan. Will you have a clan name separate from the Reliquary? A rune like we have to represent yourselves? Sorry, those are probably not the important questions.”

Bryn merely beamed at her. “Actually, we have talked about those things extensively.” She cut a nervous glance at Alar (clearly the least receptive to whatever conclusion had been reached). “And it’s thanks to Feldspar that we came to the consensus that we did, I’ll be truthful with you.”

Seven motioned to the empty cavern as she said, “No one will be here for at least an hour yet, I was hoping to talk to Aphid which is why I’m early. But she seems… conspicuously absent. If you want to give me the run down I’d be more than happy to listen. And, I don’t want to sound _rude_ , but some of the other dragons would probably be more receptive to your ideas if you had support from dragons who aren’t Feldspar.”

Alar made an indignant sound in his throat, arms tightening across his chest. But Bryn merely sighed. “You are quite right, unfortunately. Well, we will not be distancing ourselves from the Reliquary. Despite what some insisted, it is in our best interests to remain under that banner if peace is to be maintained, separation is what led to the conflict in the first place, we don’t want to return to that. We will be calling ourselves the Federation, the familiar subset to your clan, identifying rune included. And the proposal we want to run past your council is quite conservative really.”

“Oh, Bryn, get to the point!” Those were the first words the harpy had spoken, but he did seem so very excited about whatever it was she had to say.

For her part, Bryn rolled her eyes at him. “We would like to add a few of our number to the council. One for each beastfolk society and perhaps two or three others for quality of life purposes. I would, of course, be acting as representative to the centaur herds, Eodri has agreed to sit as a conflict specialist and Tek here would like to speak for the Talonok.”

He ruffled his wings. “Actually, _speak_ is a generous term. I was cast out of my roost for…” he cleared his throat, “ _personal_ reasons. But the Talonok of the clan seemed content to let me represent them and my ruined reputation at home should be only a minor hindrance, really.”

Seven blinked at him, bewildered. “Well that seems a perfectly reasonable suggestion to me. The fact that it’s taken so long to get more representatives for you on the council has been an issue of contention for some of us for a while now. Do you have a full list of candidates?”

Bryn rifled through the satchel slung across her shoulder and retrieved a scroll that was altogether too small for Seven to read let alone hold safely. Thankfully, Bryn knew that, so all she did was brandish it as proof that they really had thought this through.

“You will… vouch for us, then?” Alar asked, clearly sceptical, his brows knitted tight in a frown of disbelief and confusion.

“Oh, of course,” Seven replied. “The trouble isn’t that no one respects you or your needs and more that it takes a while to reach an agreement.”

“Too many hard headed scalies, huh?” he said wryly.

“Too many resistant to change,” she corrected quietly.

He gave her an odd look but didn’t comment further. And then they waited for the rest of the dragons to arrive. Winter trailed in late, last of them all, as always. He muttered something about getting distracted by research with Pencil but that was normal.

They, like Seven, were all confused by the presence of the beastfolk, Bryn excepted, but once she started speaking, explaining what their Federation had decided, realisation dawned on them all. With many varying reactions, as expected. Crossfire was, bless him, immediately in favour of the idea, and naturally so was Feldspar. Inerri too, supported the inclusion, but Denara remained quietly concerned. She didn’t say much outright against it, but her tone remained as reserved as always on the topic, wary of letting too much control slip away. Norok, on the other claw, was more vocally against it. (Eodri gave her a sharp, reproachful look that sailed clean over her head.) Winter seemed unsure altogether of the wisdom of such a move. Venin alone didn’t speak the entire time they bickered.

His opinion wasn’t so much a tie breaker, since most of them were in full support, but the fact remained that if he and Denara chose to deny the request that is which way the decision would swing. A clan founders they still held most of the decision making power in the clan.

Eventually he did speak, softly, as is his wont. “We are supposed to be a safe haven,” he interjected. Norok’s current point cutting off mid-word as she fell instantly silent. “For _all_. That should include the beastfolk. They are a part of our clan and our wider world.”

The quiet remained for a good long breath as that little reminder was digested by everyone. Denara shuffled her wings awkwardly.

Surprisingly to all, it was Norok who broke the silence. And not with a loud retort either, but a more moderate tone. “He’s right. I’m not sure the beastfolk constitute outcasts necessarily, but they are being ostracised from the running of the clan.” She lifted a heated gaze that, with weight, should’ve pinned Denara in place. “We should fix that.”

Every eye in the room fell on Denara. They very rarely reached complete agreement on a topic, but somehow it felt like in this one instance, Denara at least should not be the source of the division. And honestly, given Norok’s swift reconsideration, it would be quite a point to make if she remained steadfast in her stance against it. Norok _never_ changed her mind.

Quietly, Seven wondered what memories Venin’s words had stirred within her to incite it this time.

Denara’s tail swished over the stone floor, the only sound in the room. “That’s true. I would like to state that I’m not against the beastfolk being involved when a topic concerns them; they are beneficial for obvious reasons. My concern stems primarily from the possibility that where a distinct difference of opinion exists… a struggle might happen or… sabotage perhaps.”

“You don’t trust us,” Alar put in unhappily. “And why should you? We outnumber you.”

“The purpose of including the beastfolk in clan activities is to improve communication,” Crossfire pointed out. “Where communication exists, misunderstandings are less likely. And, Denara, you’ll never trust them unless we give them a chance to prove that they should be.”

In that moment, Seven felt an unbelievable fondness for him, more than usual even. Staring down one of the clan’s founders like that? Very brave. Something she’d never been able to do. It reminded her suddenly that she really didn’t deserve him.

But she should like to. “They gave us the first chance to talk of peace,” she said, surprising even herself by speaking. “Shouldn’t we return that faith?”

Denara blinked, almost uncomprehendingly, at both of them. But then she smiled, a soft curling of her lips. “We raised the children well, I think. They are right. I would like you, Bryn, to forgive me if I’m a touch overprotective of my clan. It’s… hard to admit, I suppose, but relinquishing any amount of control to an unproven party is daunting.”

Bryn nodded, a little tersely. Her tone was clipped in her reply, “A mother’s protective instincts can be hard to shake, but it would be nice to know you do not think so little of us.”

“I’m not questioning your capabilities or suitability for the task,” Denara replied, somehow managing to keep a moderate tone. “More… acknowledging my own failings.”

“You need not be so cautious with us,” Tek assured her. “Some of us gave up much seeking peace with your kind. That we are here at all, in spite of the conviction of our own peoples that you cannot be trusted, should be worth something. All we’re asking is that you take the same risks we are.”

And that, more than anything else said thus far, gave Denara pause. “I cannot promise I’ll be warm to you,” she said slowly. “But I can promise that I’ll try. You have my support as well.” That time, her tone carried a definite hint of further words: _do not make me regret it_.

Just like that, it seemed, the council grew.

“Council is such a boring word though,” Tek piped up. “Anyone can have a council. My home clan had a council for organising festivities. That was their whole job. We need something grander. Something befit an assembly of both dragons and beastfolk.”

That also prompted a long, meandering conversation. But in the end it came back around to Tek’s words. Somehow, the word Assembly just seemed to stick. That’s what they were, after all.

With the blessing of the Reliquary, the Federation gained traction swiftly and the number of beastfolk and their kin on the Assembly increased until they had every base covered. And, with the relative autonomy granted the familiars of the clan, not every meeting they held had to revolve around the day to day minutiae of their needs. Instead, those issues fell solely on the Federation Assembly representatives.

Where necessary issues pertained to both dragons and familiars, both groups were involved. Things like what to do about Fiend’s most recent terrible activities. Or that persistent magical energy hanging over the lair like some strange tingling cloud. Things like how familiars would be involved in festivals and the inclusion of their gods at the Temple Tree.

With the formation of the Federation and the rearranging of the Assembly, life ran a lot more smoothly. No one dragon was in charge of all the hundreds of residents of the lair, a development Seven knew Venin was incredibly pleased with.

But of course, nothing runs smoothly forever. And in this case, the ennui of the lair ended very, very badly.


	8. changing of the guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls see these two tumblr posts for graphics depicting the clan's location and general appearance:   
> http://reliquiaenfr.tumblr.com/post/137275474238/shamelessly-stole-this-layout-from
> 
> http://reliquiaenfr.tumblr.com/post/133703394763/after-the-clan-moved-from-the-tangled-woods-to

The lair had been quiet - almost peaceful - for many months which was in itself quite a feat. In spite of Venin’s attempts to maintain amity within the clan, the universe had not been kind. With Beastclan skirmishes and constant peace talks, he was exhausted. This was why he’d never wanted to lead a clan in the first place. Kieri was a blessing from Shadowbinder, sure, slowly growing into the role as his replacement, but truthfully it was the quiet he was most thankful for.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

Riverstone had begun with the ominous portents only a week before, but as always, they were given only half an ear. She wasn’t known for her accuracy, after all. But strange talk had begun to reach their secluded corner of the world, whispers of strange happenings at the Focal Point. Rumour had it (and when rumour reached the Reliquary it was most likely truth) that there were experiments going on in the Isles of the kind never before seen. Not by dragonkind at any rate. And when travellers began to bring word of unusual colouration in scales, never seen first-hand, but heard from a ‘reliable source’, Venin paid a little more attention.

These creatures… Many muttered about them with horror or fear. Would they pose a threat? Were they some terrible mutation of the Arcanist’s creation? Venin didn’t know. Nor did he much care. So long as they left his clan alone they could do as they please. Be whatever colour took their fancy. And really, so many dragons wear paint anyway. He didn’t see the fuss.

Fiend however. She decided it was monstrous. An affront to nature. Any affected dragons were abominations to be put down. He missed the signs: her growing agitation, lengthy silences and prolonged ‘hunting’ trips. Many of the visitors who brought word of the strange happenings vanished inexplicably in the night. Venin was so used to Fiend… relocating guests (to her stomach) that he didn’t think any more of it than usual.

He should have. Hindsight is a cruel thing.

She attacked in the early hours. Rising up from the deep caverns where she made her nest, West at her side. Many of the familiar residents fought her fiercely - they were the first to feel her pent up wrath - but they were hardly a match for her vicious claws. Dozens had fallen before an alarm was even sounded. A number of dragons were slain as they slept even. She lashed out at anything that moved.

The clan’s defenders rallied against her, even by herself she proved a fearsome opponent. Many perished before she was chased, wounded and bleeding heavily, from their lands. West slunk after her into the gathering light filtering through the trees of the Woods.

As the damage was taken in, their losses tallied and the wounded carried to the infirmary, Venin felt that familiar bone deep exhaustion seeping once more into his stance. He glanced around at his battered clan and felt nothing but sorrow. Inerri had warned him years ago.

“Don’t take her in, Venin,” she’d cautioned. “That girl will bring nothing but disaster down on us.”

Yet he hadn’t been able to turn her away and now… Now. Stubborn Denara favoured her left arm and Norok had deep gashes across her flank. Daeddrin sported the worst of the wounds, having gone head to head with Fiend at one point; his head was bowed as Jemma tended the places on his neck where spines had been forcefully removed. Piper and Ravelin were already bandaged and… He couldn’t look at those who’d given their life. 

However, even as he took in the devastation around him, one thing brought him comfort. Amid the ruined buildings and smouldering trees, Kieri flitted. She spoke to those who had fought, Qaondril carrying food to those who couldn’t walk. Where she went, tired smiles followed.

Until eventually she reached him. This tiny little Nocturne who brought hope with her wherever she went, who seemed to brighten even the dark of the Woods. She fixed him with her most serious face, an unusual set for her soft features.

“We shouldn’t stay,” she’d told him, so bold and certain.

“Many can’t walk,” he pointed out.

Kieri nodded. “Once they’ve healed…” She turned to glance around. Anthelion had materialised at her side having strengthened their magical borders in case Fiend decided to try again. “This place will carry these memories forever,” she maintained. “And we cannot live over a grave.”

Venin tipped his head towards Anthelion, a silent request for her input. She merely blinked, arching one shoulder in deference to their decision. He was loathe to leave these trees, the place he and Denara had carved out for them many years ago. The place where their family had started.

Home.

And yet Kieri wasn’t wrong. The place would hold death for a long time. Certainly while any who remembered what had happened lingered.

Somehow… It seemed fitting that as the Reliquary came under new leadership, they should find new lands to call their own. A fresh start, away from the darkness Fiend had brought. She might chase them, or she might claim these ones for herself. Perhaps she might finally attempt to start that clan she’d always wanted. Though he remained skeptical of her chances to take over the world and kill the deities.

So he nodded briefly. “When the injured can travel then. Where will we go?”

Kieri seemed shocked that he would ask her this and looked over at Anthelion. They always appeared to hold entire conversations in a single glance and when Kieri turned back to him he had no doubt that’s precisely what had transpired. Some unspoken conclusion reached between the two of them in complete silence.

“To the west. We’ll return home.”

Two weeks later, they began the trek to Dragonhome.

And when the ‘abominations’ with their strange colourings began to trickle in… Well. Venin had no doubt they’d be accepted just the same as everyone else.


	9. a gentle protection

Those who remained to establish the new Reliquary Canyon along the north-eastern cliffs of Dragonhome and come to call it home numbered much fewer than they used to. Many of their, once, nearly eighty strong family had been lost; some to Fiend’s claws in the attack, some they lost on the journey out of the Woods, some arrived but couldn’t bear to be reminded of what had transpired and left to other less sorrowful shores and some who made it to Dragonhome didn’t live long enough to see the clan begin again. What remained of the Reliquary included fewer than thirty dragons and a handful of familiars and beastfolk.

It was a melancholy canyon that Kieri came to leadership of. Not that this seemed to dampen her spirits any. Baffling to Anthelion, Kieri only cared about providing them all with a fresh start, free of the horrors they left beneath the purple leaves of the Woods.

And Anthelion was willing to move the earth to help her.

In the days after they settled in the canyon, everyone having found a suitable location to call their own, belongings stored safely, a new Vault secured and food supplies established, several other, _new_ , things were begun.

The first of which was the least exciting of them all: a proper location for the Assembly. Their new territory, while referred to by them all as a singular canyon, it could actually be considered three canyons with small offshoots joining them together. Great spires of rock towered into the sky where the walls dividing up sections had eroded over time. This was most obvious in the north by the ocean, but to the south, the walls between them all fell away, merging them into one great canyon. Here there were fields of long grass, plains for grazing, and in the southernmost sections, desert.

It was in one of the giant spires of stone near the coastline – the _accessible_ coastline, for there was a raised section also, lower than the canyon walls, but not at sea level, that also overlooked the strait – that they named the Assembly. Much of it had already been constructed, great stone pillars supported a squared entrance, large statues – of dragons and beastfolk – had been carved into the rock watching over the stairs into the chamber as ancient sentinels. For a while, they wondered if this meant a clan would be returning, Snappers in particular, native to Dragonhome, were a worrisome possibility. But the longer they were there, the more apparent it became that this canyon had been abandoned a long time.

Once the Assembly had a location to meet, and what a grand high ceilinged chamber it was, they began to talk about how best to prevent another incident like the one that had prompted their move. The most common solution to which was the one that elicited the most heated debates: a screening process for those wishing to stay.

Anthelion, by virtue of her connection to the new clan leader (and her magic, she suspected), had a seat with the Assembly and whenever the issue was raised it was to her that all eyes flicked curiously. For her part, if they did agree that it was the best idea, she would do what was expected of her. It did seem a little archaic to her though, the idea that every dragon and familiar wishing to linger a time beneath their trees (or even just pass through, the argument was made) would have to be vetted by her? It seemed clunky and impossible to properly enforce, not to mention exhausting. Her… _interrogations_ , she preferred to keep for those she felt posed a threat of some kind.

So it was that she and Kieri took their dilemma to non-Assembly dragons. Something Venin probably would’ve warned against had he known beforehand. Luckily, Anthelion convinced Kieri not to say anything.

For the most part, their talks with other members of the clan (some beastfolk included) resulted in the same sort of suggestions as had been constantly raised by the Assembly. Interrogate all visitors. Limit access to the lair. Dragons must be proven if they wish to become part of the clan. It all revolved around being certain – by whatever means necessary – that an individual did not pose a threat to the clan.

Two dragons, and quite separate from one another it should be noted, came up with more novel ideas. And they were the basis for the solution the Assembly selected.

At first, a shrug was all Bereave had to offer on the topic. But she and Kieri shared a strange sisterly bond and eventually she did say, “Well why not put the fear of the Eleven in them, huh? Can’t you convince all the randoms who visit us that we have some sort of divine protection? That would keep them in line right?”

“Fear isn’t really how we want to encourage folks to be nice to one another, Reave,” Kieri told her with a short chuckle. “But thanks.”

“If not fear of the Eleven then,” Bereave hummed as they were leaving. “Why not just have Anthelion put a great big spell on the lair that will let us know if someone means us harm? Like a Skydancer’s antennae sense but for all of the lair.”

“Do you know how much power that would require?” Anthelion asked her, a little incredulous at the idea. “I’m flattered that you have that kind of faith in me, but I can’t do that alone. Every witch in the lair would have to be in on it.”

Bereave shrugged again. “It was just a thought. You’re putting your fancy barrier up around this lair too thought right? Like you did last time?”

“Of course, I’ve been setting it up slowly since we arrived.”

“How come that isn’t as draining then?”

“It merely notifies me when someone has entered the lair. Not their intentions or character.”

“Okay. Well just think about my idea then, yeah?” Bereave flashed them a brief smile and trotted off, clearly not interested in pressing for more details. Which was fair enough. Kieri might include her in some discussions regarding the running of the clan, but it wasn’t her area. She probably had a merchant to rob.

Riverstone put another piece on the table. “Oh…” she mumbled. “Well. You know, this canyon is old, protected by some energy. I can feel it.”

Anthelion shared a glance with Kieri. They were all sceptical of River’s ability to feel energies.

“What do you mean?” Kieri asked anyway.

Riverstone waved a paw through the air gently. “There’s a power here, a great guardian spirit protecting the canyon. It’s dormant for now, there’s been no one here for it to protect. But should it be awakened, it would keep us safe from those who enter the lair meaning us harm.”

Anthelion who was rightly considered the strongest witch in the lair and the most sensitive to magical energies had felt no such thing in the weeks since their arrival. Still, she pressed, “Do you know how it might be awoken?”

“Oh these ancient spirits,” Riverstone muttered sounding a little afraid of the idea. “They are capricious. You must placate them before they could even be considered an ally. Try putting a shrine at the Temple Tree. I’m sure with a little worship the spirit might become benevolent.”

The most superstitious dragon in the lair, and barely a mediocre oracle, much of what Riverstone _sensed_ or _predicted_ was often discarded as nonsense. But Anthelion wondered if her superstition and Bereave’s idea of magical sensations to identify hostile individuals couldn’t be combined somehow.

She discussed just that with Kieri and later the two of them went to Venin. He was, as predicted, the tiniest bit concerned about their consultations of others. In the end, he saw the wisdom in it, however. It’s why they made the Assembly in the first place: many brains are better than one. So together they hammered out some details and brought their resulting idea to the Assembly.

It was the closest to a unanimous agreement they’d had since the foundation of the Federation.

So, Anthelion and Kieri set up a shrine at the base of the Temple Tree. This one, to an entity they all referred to as their patron. A spirit of forgiveness, redemption and second chances, all the principles the Reliquary was founded upon.

They called this being Fida’an.

Any who wished to reside with them would be told to consult their patron and she would either bless them, or she would not. Those she gave leave to stay would feel at peace, those who she denied would suffer anxiety and misfortune until they left the clan’s territory. As Anthelion had said, magic of this magnitude was beyond even her considerable strength alone, but by deriving power from every living being in the canyon? That was entirely within the realm of possibilities.

And as she’d promised Bereave, Anthelion set up her magical protection barrier, just like the one she’d used on the peninsula. Only this time with a few enhancements.

The air in the lair after the shrine for their false patron had been established positively _hummed_ with magic. The many witches in the lair found the magical energies that seemed to buzz and flicker across their bodies like static to be mightily annoying. Several of them, Anthelion’s own mother among them, brought their concerns to the Assembly, wondering what it was and whether it was safe.

“It feels like it’s seeping into my bones, Anth,” Tarryn told her one quiet afternoon while working in her garden. “Like it’s becoming part of me. Isn’t that concerning?”

“No, mother. It’s just my new protection charm settling around the lair. It’ll be fine in a few days.”

Tarryn glanced over at her, the hood of her cloak folded messily around her shoulders so she could properly fix Anthelion with her bright red gaze. “Piper said even the plants feel wrong. _Wrong_ , was her word. And…” her eyes darted away to where her plant monster, Hollen, stood unmoving. (Tarryn called all of her bone and plant creations _pirrik_ , possibly for the odd chirping noises they make.) “Hollen has been acting strange; I think the magic is affecting him too.”

Anthelion bumped her nose gently into her mother’s cheek. “It’ll fade, mother. In a few days. You’ll see.”

The thing is? It didn’t. Not really. The strange tingles of invisible magical static faded, just as she’d said, but not completely.

There was a tension to the lair. Like the natural world around them was holding its breath. For what, nobody could ascertain. But Anthelion didn’t think it could possibly be anything worth worrying about. There was simply a high concentration of magical energy in the lair. That’s all. Nothing to panic about.

She was only _half_ wrong.

Every day the magic of her enchantments settled just a bit more and she’d been to see her mother again, just to be sure Hollen had improved too. Tarryn told her he was a little… _odd_ , but nothing she could put into words. So Anthelion had chalked that up to a success and left the dark part of the Greenwood where Tarryn made her home.

Fida’an, their fake patron had proven efficient already, two sketchy merchants had arrived the morning prior and upon requesting permission to join the clan (a request Kieri really only granted because they didn’t have any traders anymore) they had shivered, eyes darting all around, clearly instilled with a sense that they weren’t welcome. They retreated back to the docks some of the familiars had built (since most of them needed boats to travel long distances). Somehow, the air at the docks never felt the same as the rest of the lair, not tingly and full of magic. Which was fine, she supposed, they needed a public space for guests and it was always patrolled by one of the clan’s guard.

She was on her way back to the docks, to make sure the untrustworthy merchants had left, when she kicked her toe on something hard. Anthelion frowned; peering at what she assumed had to be the offending root, half buried in the soft soil and leaf litter. This close to the edge of the Greenwood the earth should be firming up but it was loose and gave way easily before her claws.

It didn’t quite look like a root as she scuffled at the dirt to reveal it.

Her wings snapped open and beat downwards, propelling her away in fright. Her heart hammered much harder than normal, eyes wide, crests vibrating. This was not how her day should’ve gone.

She decided not to unearth the rest of the bones herself but instead took off, heading for the Assembly. There, she found Venin and Kieri having a seemingly pleasant conversation about another trader who’d just arrived, a more reputable fellow.

“Don’t let him leave the docks,” she panted, landing a lot less gracefully than usual. “I found a body in the Greenwood.”

Venin snapped to immediate attention. “Who?”

Anthelion could only shake her head and it wasn’t until Kieri bumped softly into her shoulder that she realised she was trembling. How ridiculous, she’d seen bodies before. Created some herself. But something about the buried bones and strange magic had her suspecting foul play and it was too soon. Much too soon. Fiend was only just barely in their past, this couldn’t happen again.

“I don’t know who,” she whispered. “I… didn’t look.”

He thought for a moment before gently requesting, “Show me.”

It took her longer to find the place than it should’ve but she had been in a fright. When they landed the soil had changed again. The bone wasn’t as exposed as she’d left it. That was wholly unsettling.

When Venin stepped closer and dug at the earth it resisted him. _Actively_ resisted him. Roots shifted, wrapping about the bones and pulling them closer, loathe to part with their prize. Venin grumbled but persisted and eventually he dug up a necklace; a thin length of woven gold with a heavy bronze pendant hanging from it.

“Those merchants from yesterday,” Kieri murmured when it was clear Anthelion wouldn’t speak; or perhaps couldn’t. “They both have pendants like that.”

“I’d say this is what’s left of one of them,” Venin concurred, tilting his face back down to the corpse being consumed once more by the soil. “Anthelion, what magic is this?”

“I _don’t know_.”

Venin wanted to keep the discovery of the merchant quiet. “We don’t need a panic,” he’d said.

While that had been a valid point, Kieri and Anthelion both felt the residents of the lair needed to know that it was possible someone had been consumed by the Greenwood. There were a lot of questions, mostly, a lot of concerns, but little by way of outright panic.

“What happened? What caused it? Where did this occur?”

And of course, “Could it happen to one of us?”

After that, many avoided the Greenwood just to be safe and visitors were kept away. It was simple enough to tell them that Tarryn occasionally poisoned trespassers. But then another body was found in one of the canyons, half buried in the _solid rock wall_ of the canyon. This one, too, a travelling dragon. And not one that had seemed a threat.

A third body showed up not long later, tangled in the roots of a tree. And a fourth mostly covered by sand and hardy grass to the south. A fifth in the marshy reeds.

All of them were dragons from outside the lair.  And none of the bodies were found near the docks. Which was, they all decided, quite bizarrely where all visitors arrived. Dragons should, by all rights, be able to land anywhere along the length of the canyon, even right down the other end where there was little by way of populated structures, but they always arrived at the docks.

It was all highly unusual.

And none of them could figure out why these dragons were dying. Why was the lair consuming them? What was happening to their bodies?

The answer to the last question was answered about a week later when Tarryn stopped at the Assembly. The occurrence was unusual enough to occasion comment, she rarely left the Greenwood.

“Mother?” Anthelion asked. No sooner was the word out of her mouth than her other parent came barrelling into the Assembly. “Both of you? What’s the alarm?”

“I don’t know,” Callana huffed good naturedly. “She wouldn’t tell me. I found her in the grove where she grows her pirrik and then she just took off in a flurry.”

“I’m right here, Calla,” Tarryn sighed. “And the _alarm_ is that I think I know what’s happening to those corpses we keep finding.”

Callana and Anthelion both looked around, worried someone in the public hall might have overheard her words. “How about we talk about that where _guests_ can’t hear?” Callana suggested, eyeing Anthelion hopefully.

“Good idea. Come on.” She led them off into one of the side rooms.

“How’s Kieri doing?” Tarryn asked as they walked. “She hasn’t visited in a few days.”

“She’s handling a situation with some of the beastfolk,” Anthelion explained. “They’ve been very concerned about the mysterious deaths lately. Honestly I think they’re worried that if Kieri dies they’ll lose a lot of the good things she’s been doing for them. Now. What about the corpses?”

“The lair is eating them,” Tarryn began. “But then it’s turning them into pirrik. I found three new shoots this morning that I didn’t plant. And one fully grown pirrik in the garden of a shape I didn’t recognise. So I inspected it and I found these.” She pulled some thick charcoal bones from her satchel and laid them on the floor so Anthelion and Callana could see.

“Are those…?” Callana began softly.

“Ridgeback spines,” Tarryn finished. “Yes. It was using them as teeth, I think. It had a strange face, the mouth opened sort of like a lid and there was an odd glowing light in its chest. I’m sure you’re both aware that my pirrik do not glow.”

Callana’s eyes immediately gave Tarryn a once over. “It didn’t hurt you?”

Tarryn shook her head. “No. It just went with the others to do the tasks I assigned them all today. It was completely placid.”

Anthelion shuffled the spines on the floor. “Then what did it need these for?”

“I’m beginning to think, sweetheart, that whatever magic you and Kieri made for the clan’s protection has… I don’t know, _created_ something.” She lifted a hand to gesture vaguely. “A spirit of some kind, perhaps, a protective force. Though I’ve never heard of anything like this being possible. Calla?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I’ve heard of clans with guardian spirits and great golem watchers. Things like that. But no entity that would kill strange dragons and turn them into plant monsters for our use. I suppose it’s possible though. Most things are.”

“You don’t think… It’s not going to hurt any of us?” Anthelion honestly had never wanted to ask a question _less_. Let alone ask it of her mother.

“I don’t. So far, it’s killed those from other places, not residents. I believe it’s protecting us. In whatever warped way.”

Anthelion fidgeted a moment before asking, “Do you think we could get rid of it?”

“I think that would probably make it angry, actually.”

“Entities created of magic can be vengeful,” Callana added. “I’ve heard enough fables and folk stories of angry spirits to know that once you have one it’s altogether best to just keep it happy. Just leave it be, hon.”

“What about dragons who want to live here permanently?”

Tarryn actually laughed at that. “I’d say they should get a blessing from this thing you’ve made. Otherwise they’re going to end up in my garden just like all the rest.” With that, Tarryn turned to head back to her dark corner of the woods.

Callana bumped her shoulder into Anthelion’s though, saying, “What do you know, you take after your mother after all. Creating monsters to chase folks off. Good job, kiddo.” She shot Anthelion a bright smile before she took off after Tarryn.

It was then that Anthelion recalled what Riverstone had said about sensing a _great spirit_ in the lair, something ancient and powerful here protecting the lands and those who lived within it. She couldn’t help but think that if it hadn’t been true before then it was now. So perhaps Riverstone hadn’t sensed something already there, but had managed to accurately predict a future event for once.

That didn’t make her feel any better.


	10. the hive

“There’s really nothing to worry about, Qao, I trust Anthelion’s judgement.”

Kieri’s protests had been meeting with stubborn silence for the last hour. Her giant beetle companion ignoring her utterly, only made worse by the fact that he was easily five or six times her size. She could perch on his horns and tell him all day how he was overreacting but it wouldn’t make a difference.

“You are not safe,” was the only thing he’d chattered all day. And he’d made full use of her responsibilities calling her off to solve arguments or – Gladekeeper forbid – cover up another mysterious body. “It is my job to make sure that you are.”

“Qao!” she whined, fully aware that she sounded like a hatchling. “Anthelion is doing her best.”

He rolled one little black eye up in her direction, fixing his attention on where she sat, balanced between the prongs of his nose horn. “Her best is not stopping dragons from dying. You are only small, Kieri.”

“Actually, you’ll find I’m a perfectly reasonable size for my species, you’re just huge,” she pointed out. “And none of those dragons were me. None of them even lived here!”

“But the next one to be devoured by the woods might.”

She sighed theatrically, hoping in vain that her dramatics would make him change his mind. Plot twist: they didn’t.

Instead, he carried her away from the Assembly and towards another spire of rock, this one situated much closer to half way down the canyon and well within the area where so many dragons had been disappearing. The base of the spire had been carved, much like the Assembly, into a great square opening. Many of the spires scattered through the canyon were like this, but not all. This particular one had been left unused when Pencil declared it an unfit space for a library and also due to its proximity to two of the strange deaths.

Qao flittered inside and up. The main high-ceilinged hall was empty but she could hear voices from a few floors up. Balconies ringed the great chamber; little rooms opening up around it at intervals, in some places, a truly unusual stone had been inserted in massive arching designs, like windows. She felt like she should be able to see through them, but they were smudged and dirtied. Plus she’d seen no evidence of windows from the outside so it was probably nothing of the sort. Between each balcony, spiral staircases carved intricately out of the stone looped up and down to grant access.

They landed about four storeys up; one of the rooms here was larger than the others, more open. Clearly it was intended for use as more a public space than the others. The voices she’d heard before were coming from within. And, after a moment, she realised she _knew_ one of them.

“I’m not staying. But I heard what Qaondril was planning and I offered my own form of help.”

That was Tarryn’s voice. How completely unexpected.

A voice Kieri didn’t know responded in a flat, dangerous tone. “This creature is like the ones growing from the bodies of those killed in the lair. How can it be trusted?”

Tarryn made a _tch_ sound. “Because this is a pirrik _I grew_ , not one grown from some dead dragon. Does it look like a dragon to you?”

The conversation faded into angry grumbles but no one had a chance to respond because Qaondril was stepping into the room. His greater horns just brushed the ceiling. Imperials would struggle getting into the space.

“Calm, Elika,” he muttered. “Tarryn is here because I invited her. The creature she made is safe.”

Elika, it turned out, was a serthis. She had short sandy hair and dark skin, her scales all mottled golds and browns, the clothes she wore also shades clearly meant to blend into the deserts. Her eyes, however, they were a piercing green, and when they landed on Kieri there was steel behind them. She wore two long slender blades strapped to her shoulders.

“If you say so,” she muttered, lips turning down in a sour curl.

“This is Elika,” Qao told Kieri. “She is your master of weapons.”

Kieri made a strangled squawking noise in the back of her throat, indignant. “What do I need one of those for?”

“You lair has been killing strangers,” Elika explained. “In the event people find out, they will no doubt try to harm the clan. And even if no one ever finds out about this magic, you are a clan leader. That makes you a target. We are going to protect you.”

“We?”

Of course, it was only after that Kieri asked that she saw the others in the room. The first of which was a bright red beetle she can’t honestly believe she overlooked. This beetle was not as large as Qao, more her own size, but her eyes and carapace sparkled even in the dim light. The next a great monitor lizard with two heads, its hide a dark grey with blotched green and orange spots. And the last, sitting quietly with Tarryn in the corner was a pirrik just like Hollen. This one, however, was not boarlike, but shaped rather more an aardvark. It had a bark face and shoulders like Hollen, vines and roots tangling around like sinews and muscle. Kieri knew it was built on a structure of bones and flowers grew along its back. Tarryn’s pirrik were better suited to magical endeavours, but this one had long and vicious claws so Kieri had little doubt that it would be dangerous up close as well.

“This is Ko,” Elika informed her gesturing to the lizard. “He will be your watcher. Never will he leave your side. That’s Tarlith,” she indicated the red beetle, “and she works with Aphid. For our purposes, she will serve as master of whispers. And this…” she trailed off, tone a little distasteful.

“This is Caelin,” Tarryn finished. “Though that’s just what I’ve been calling it, you’re more than welcome to give it a new moniker if you want, or use different pronouns, it won’t care. It should’ve been finished growing weeks ago but I added a little extra to the soil so it’ll be more robust.”

“Caelin is a caster,” Qao added. “She’ll be your head caster. Unlike the rest of us, though, communication with her might be a little harder.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Tarryn concluded. “Now I better go. I have potions to attend.”

For a long moment the room was quiet after she left, Kieri busy turning over what she’d just learned in her head.

“So…” she eventually muttered. “What does that make you?”

“A collective of individuals from the Federation who want to protect our clan leader,” Ko said, his voice soft, very quiet and without much emotion behind it. “Your mate gives you protection, and the Federation wishes to as well.”

“Bodyguards, then?”

Ko bobbed one of his heads – the orangey one. “If that’s how you want to see it. Since we moved, Federation members have been finding their place, and with the cooperation of the Assembly many have more options than before. The protection of the lair’s territory is a joint effort between dragons and Federation. Your safety will be too.”

“It won’t just be the five of us,” Elika added. “Many of the Federation wanted to help. But we are… the best in our respective fields.” Her eyes cut to Caelin then, but the pirrik didn’t appear to care for her judgement one way or another. “We will be the ones primarily in charge of your safety. Ko and I will not leave your side.”

“I dare say, Caelin won’t either,” Ko’s green head added with only marginally more inflection.

Qao shuffled his wings, carapace buzzing at the movement. “We selected this spire to be our central location. Any member of the Federation here will be primarily concerned with keeping you safe.”

“One way or another,” Tarlith chimed in. “Elika and Ko have their combat skills. I will protect you with information.”

Kieri shook her head. “I don’t want this. What about all the other dragons in the lair? They could all be hurt too; do _they_ get protection? What about Anthelion and her parents?”

“No one else in this lair is the leader,” Qao replied.

“I’m not much of a leader without Anth, Qao. She’s my partner in this.”

She watched, frustrated, as they all exchanged glances. No matter her dislike for the situation it appeared she was going to be living with it anyway.

“It is because you care so much for your clan,” Elika murmured, her tone the most moderate it had been this whole time, “that we are so intent on keeping you safe.”

Tarlith chittered agreement. “Should we lose you as a leader,” she added, “we’ll be losing not only a _kind_ leader, but one that values the Federation as equals to dragons. I doubt we’ll see that again in my lifetime.”

Qao tilted his head slightly, forcing her to adjust her balance and look back at him. “Protect the things most precious to you while you have them,” he said.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all wrong, too much. “I don’t want this. Creatures serving me like I’m some… Radiant King.”

“We won’t be,” Elika assured her. “We have your safety in mind, but we won’t be taking orders. Never you worry about that.”

Kieri found she couldn’t really believe Elika’s words. No part of what they were proposing sounded like anything other than a personal guard. The kind found in those stories of grand empires from the Sunbeam Ruins, where one would give their life to save their monarch or face questions of treason. Awful stories that had always turned her stomach, they were, and she wanted no part of it.

But, as predicted, Elika and Ko left the spire with her. Both of them were skilled in keeping themselves hidden, however, and for the most part she barely noticed they were there. They didn’t talk to her like she was some lofty royal, sent by one of the Eleven to rule the masses. Rather when they addressed her, it was friendly, warm. They spoke to Anthelion the same.

Anthelion who laughed when she heard what Qaondril had organised, at the stubbornness of the Federation members watching her back. She called them Kieri’s “hive of protectors” and, Gladekeeper preserve her, when Tarlith found out (probably through Ko) that was the name they were stuck with.

The Hive, Qaondril began to refer to them as. Fitting, since he was an insect and Kieri herself dabbled in entomology.

Kieri continued to protest their dogged persistence, but eventually she found she was glad to have them. One mercenary band passing through that decided they could take the whole canyon for themselves if only they took out the leader. The Mirror who leapt at her was surprised to have Elika’s blades flash out to sit against his throat. Or the time an emissary from the Wastelands decided it was an affront to all dragonkind that the Reliquary kept peaceful relations with the beastfolk. She found out that despite her Plague heritage, Ko’s venom was potent enough to almost kill her. And the tribe of warlike centaurs who had moved into southern Dragonhome, wanting to take back the lands and fight every dragon they could. They sent an ambassador too, a smiling charming chap who seemed more willing than their letters and vague threats had implied. Caelin got him, square in his chest with a blot of some strange magic. (Elika trusted her more after that.)

Yes, they were worth having around. Anthelion at least found she could rest easier knowing Kieri wasn’t going to be in any imminent danger any time she met with a dignitary. And after a while, Kieri found she even enjoyed having them as company. Elika was friendly once past her introversion, widely read and kind. Ko didn’t like chatting, but he did have a level head, calm and reassuring voice and a way with delivering deadpan jokes. Tarlith _was_ chatty, an open and personable beetle that Kieri quite enjoyed conversing with. And Caelin… well… she didn’t speak so much as flower or wilt in reaction to various situations, but she loved company.

It was nice. And the Federation seemed only too pleased to be in charge of protecting the clan’s leaders (Anthelion was eventually included in their unwritten agreement), which was very good for relations with them.

That said, there was still very little they could do about threats of a magical variety. And no one had yet figured out what was killing visitors or how (or if, even) it could be stopped. In fact, most of the Hive seemed content to assume it wasn’t a worry to residents and therefore would not hurt Kieri. If it posed her no danger, then it’s not their concern.

It worried Anthelion though, she knew.

But then, they did have more immediate worries. Of the Sorneith-wide variety. Since Fiend’s attacks, no one had heard a single rumour about the strange colour anomalies turning up around the place that had caused her all that rage in the first place. So naturally, they’d all forgotten about it.

Until they were reminded again, anyway.


	11. an unexpected magic

There had been a strange phenomenon sweeping all of Sornieth for months: eggs weren’t hatching and no one knew why. Some thought it was a bizarre sort of egg sickness and discarded any that didn’t hatch within the proper timeframe. Some thought it was the work of the gods. Still others remained patient with their unborn, waiting and waiting, having faith that they would hatch in due time.

Those were the dragons rewarded.

The abandoned eggs, however, resulted in any number of orphaned dragons turning up at lairs when the inevitable happened. Within a few hours it seemed, hundreds – _thousands_ – of eggs all cracked open. After months of stagnating populations, suddenly and inexplicably, numbers in clans all around the world were suddenly swollen thanks to the influx of children.

Even the Reliquary, with all the bizarre magic it had been labouring under lately, found itself caring for hatchlings no one was expecting. Some of these children appeared in places no one was ready for. After months of visitors only ever appearing at the docks (for reasons no one could explain) suddenly finding hatchlings in caves and stuck in trees and babbling happily as they splashed in the stream dangerously close to deep running water… well it was a huge shock.

Aphid even found one clinging to the upper frame of the Vault’s entrance, screeching. She was not pleased. She shooed the offending Mirror out and he hooted the whole way. Once outside he joined a trio of other youngsters tearing around the plains to the increasing frustration of those trying to wrangle them all.

“This is why I don’t want kids,” Aphid grumbled to no one in particular.

It was just her luck that Osprey was there to hear her. “Because you’re worried about drowning the world in off-colour hatchlings?”

She levelled her fiercest glare at him. “You know what I meant. What’s the tally at now anyway?”

He shrugged one shoulder and went back to shuffling through their latest trade reports, looking for his seed prices no doubt. “Last I heard we had nearly thirty little ones barrelling about causing Inerri a headache to last the Age.”

“What a nightmare.”

“Oh, I think it’s nice that eggs aren’t sitting frozen anymore. That was scary.”

She turned her gaze back to her filing. “Reminds me of Fiend, actually.”

That made him look up, brown eyes blinking as they focused. “Why would it ever do that? She _ate_ children, Aphid!”

“Yes but she also decided to attack us all because she was afraid we’d take in weird coloured… _abominations_ , she called them.” She waved a paw at the entrance. “Well she was right, they exist. Here they all are and we have taken them in. Makes me wonder if she wasn’t right to be afraid.”

Osprey made a choked sound in the back of his throat. “You _agree_ with her?”

“Tch, certainly not. She was mad and monstrous.” Aphid dropped her folder on the desk with a _whump_. “But we don’t know what caused this? They could be contagious! Could be carrying some horrible disease that will wipe us all out. We don’t know how this happened.”

“Tarryn’s looking into it,” he said, seemingly unconcerned.

“Yes, the witch who used to make a habit of poisoning us all. How reassuring.”

“You’re awfully judgemental, you know that?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m _concerned_. What are we going to do with them all anyway?”

“They’ll find homes eventually. All of them.” He flipped through a few more sheafs before making a satisfied noise, clearly having found what he was after. “Besides, I’m sure it’s not contagious. How could it be? They were all born this way.”

And sure, maybe Osprey was right. But Aphid worried _anyway_ , it’s what made her so good at filtering through all the fabrications she heard and finding each grain of truth. It’s what made her excellent at handling money and resources and compiling all the available facts before making a decision.

He had been precisely correct about one thing: most of the children left the lair and never once looked back. But he’d also seemed certain that the way they lived, their tiny little clan of twenty-five dragons and a few hundred Federation creatures, would go back to how it had been, no harm done. When in fact, this proved to be not the case at _all_.

In actuality, _Aphid_ had been right. Having a clan full of kids was awful.

Because no sooner had the last of the surprise hatchlings disappeared than others joined them. A little sandy dragon coloured strangely like all the rest; she was adopted by Riverstone and Feldspar, added to their collection of gemstone oddities. A fruity Nocturne, all bright smiles and brighter scales, taken in by Seven and Crossfire, a son they raised to be as personable as his parents. And that horrible little Guardian girl who Chevron found one afternoon and Bereave wouldn’t give up. She hadn’t been so bad at first but that had changed.

Others arrived in the lair with them. Most were older and they carried pasts they wanted to leave behind. That, Aphid didn’t begrudge them, all the dragons of the Reliquary had things they wanted to forget and move past. Or they had skills that made them hard for others to trust (her thoughts travelled to Anthelion and her talents; for a moment she understood why she and Kieri let these dragons stay, they were all alike in that one regard).

But no, what did concern her was waking up one morning and being fully certain the colour of her scales had changed.

Aphid didn’t consider herself vain (not any more than the rest of her peers, at least), but it alarmed her enough to think that perhaps this strange colour magic was contagious like she’d feared. Tarryn had told them all weeks ago that it wasn’t, not airborne, waterborne or transmitted by touch. It was a condition formed at birth and that was all there was to it.

Despite her assurances, Aphid was convinced her scales had shifted in tone. She’d heard plenty of whispers about the condition from her sources. Dragons getting sick or losing motor function or going mad. Horrible things. Nothing really substantial, she’d admit, but it seemed unlikely that so many dragons were making things up, honestly. The chances that all the afflicted dragons already having health problems seemed way too coincidental.

(She tried not to think about Fiend’s reaction when the rumours had first started years ago. Tried not to imagine that other dragons would be like her, attacking others or harming themselves over this and muddying the facts.)

But the possibility remained distinctly horrifying. If this surface level change was possible then it _might_ be linked to other, deeper and more serious issues. So she went to the Assembly. It made plenty of sense; they handled other serious issues too. And who did she find there? Osprey, his scales markedly darker than before.

“Good morning, Aphid,” he greeted her with a gentle smile.

“It is not a _good_ anything. Look at my scales!”

He blinked. “Oh, you have a little more blue in your wings,” he noted. “Like Daeddrin!”

“His wings have always been blue,” she reminded him, confused. Sure, the Ridgeback had turned up with wings covered in sand all muddied and brown. A horrible colour, she’d thought. But after a bath they’d proven a deep blue. She didn’t have a clue what Osprey could mean.

“Sure, but they’re the most vivid blue now,” he added. “Like a clear summer sky. Gorgeous. And there are gold bits too.”

“Did you tell him how pretty he is,” she asked wryly.

“Of course I did. He thanked me.”

She sighed. “And has anyone else been afflicted by this… whatever it is?”

He nodded his head slowly, still unruffled by it all. “Norok, Greymarch and Pencil have all been displaying a shift in the tonality of their hides, yes. I think Grey’s going green, actually. You’d like it.”

“How are you so calm about all this? Aren’t you the least bit worried?”

“Worried about what? All the oddly coloured hatchlings are healthy and strong, all the guests we get with the strange colours are equally so.” He tilted his head. “Is it possible that Kieri actually received news before you?”

She huffed. “What news?” That dratted bug, Tarlith, was supposed to bring her information _first_ , no matter her Hive allegiances. That was the deal.

“Kieri heard that dragons in some of our allied clans – older dragons, ones born before the hatchling influx – had been experiencing the same problems you and I are having. They’re all fine, Aphid.”

“So why is it happening then?”

“Magic.”

They both turned to see Tarryn exiting the Assembly. Aphid struggled more than she’d like to admit to contain the acidic _obviously_ sitting on her tongue.

“What do you mean?” Osprey asked her. “It’s clearly magic, but what kind could do this?”

“I was just talking to Anthelion and Kieri and we’re pretty sure it’s due to high concentrations of magical energies,” she explained. “Our lair is _overflowing_ with magic. Based on the reports Tarlith has brought in this morning that’s our best guess. Whatever caused the hatchlings to be born with these new colours is affecting older dragons too. Likely it will for a long time, as in more older dragons will feel the effects in the years to come. Not all of them, but some.”

Tarlith. Ugh, she knew it. “But is it just a guess?”

Tarryn smiled softly, though Aphid found it slightly unsettling. “You’re not going to die, Aphid. Most dragons don’t experience much of a shift, so I’ve heard. Feldspar just got here, too; he’s feeling the effects as well. Go talk to Anthelion; she’ll fill you in more.” And with that, the enigmatic Pearlcatcher left them standing there, no more informed than before, _really_.

Honestly, she was supposed to just take Tarryn’s word on the matter? Damn Tarlith for not filling her in first. Aphid hated that she felt a little better about the situation after Tarryn’s explanation, too. She’d have to pick Tarlith’s brain before she was satisfied. And! And find more stories corroborating that there was no detriment to the change. And even then…

“Let’s go do that then,” Osprey said, turning into the Assembly already. “Come on, Aphid. We’ll make sure your claws don’t fall out.”

She did not find his joke funny, for the record.


	12. sanctuary

Within the borders of the canyon, the barrier magic that protects their lands has changed. It came slowly, gradually, almost unnoticeable at first. As their clan began to expand for the first time in years, dragons with those odd new colours arriving every other day, it seemed, the shift became more pronounced.

Anthelion noticed it first; a prickling along her spine, the way the fur at her shoulders would lift inexplicably. She didn’t want to say that the change in the magic was connected to the arrival of new dragons, but the more it happened the more she came to think that was the only explanation. The _why_ of it eluded her, however. Serendipity, one of those new dragons, a soft and scared sort of Skydancer; she noticed it second, bringing a quiet yet concerned question to Anthelion and Kieri about the nature of the change. The fact that the shift was pronounced enough for someone to notice when they had been at the lair for barely a month was telling. None of them had any explanations, though, for nothing had really _changed_. Or at least, not in an obvious way.

Something had definitely happened, however. Anthelion no longer had to concentrate on her protective barrier, no longer had to consciously maintain it, no longer had to make sure there was enough magical energy feeding it. As if it had gained some independence and was capable of sustaining itself. When she whispered this possibility to Kieri in the soft twilight under the trees she could tell it bothered her mate as much as it did her.

“That’s disturbing,” were Kieri’s exact words. Anthelion didn’t have the heart to reply. Because it was.

She could still _feel_ the magic of the barrier, doing the same work it had ever since they arrived and she’d established it. But it was _different_ now. No longer just a boundary, the magic filled the lair, the entire canyon, permeating the air and hanging gently beneath the leaves of the Greenwood, floating downstream on the breeze, hanging in the warm dry air to the south. As if it had joined with the magic that fed the shrine of Fida’an, Anthelion couldn’t pick them apart anymore. It felt like the magic was _growing_. The only place it didn’t touch was the harbour.

The largest of the three canyon mouths, terminating in a broad sandy beach, with docks for visiting merchants and the clan’s Federation ships. A lodge had been hollowed into one of the tall rocky spires nearby for guests to stay and the official, public part of the Assembly was accessible from the ocean side as well. Ji Qeng’s orchard and markets sat nearby, the better for visitors to make trades with him at their leisure. The _Peripeteia_ bobbed in the bay reserved solely for her use whenever her captain was home. It was a not inconsiderable section of the lair, the areas the Assembly had officially set aside for public use.

Seven always told guests not to leave the approved areas for a number of reasons. The thieving habits of some of the residents, the unpredictability of Xhinhai, occasional violence of Khazamaran, Tarryn’s concoctions and her propensity for dispensing them on unaware visitors, among other things. The lair’s warriors maintained a constant, if rotating; presence at the docks keeping the area comparatively safe and most guests heed her advice.

The disappearances and deaths of visitors that had begun occurring a few months prior had settled down somewhat. But then again, most of the travellers that passed through listened to Seven’s warnings and stayed at the docks. Occasionally, someone wouldn’t listen and their body would be found the next morning, overgrown in mounds of foliage that couldn’t possibly have had the time to mature like that, or pulled inexplicably into rock walls.

Not all guests suffered this fate; the ten new dragons living permanently in the canyon were a testament to that. They had all – somehow – passed whatever magical test the shrine of Fida’an used to evaluate new residents. Even Khazamaran was protected.

Anthelion’s best guess as to what the changes meant was simple: the magic she’d used to grant Fida’an a semblance of sentience and power had… for lack of something more reasonable, actually gained a modicum of independence. The shrine drew power from every last resident in the clan, it was a symbiotic relationship; Fida’an derived strength and a sort of sentience from the clan, and in exchange she kept them safe by removing unwelcome outsiders. As new dragons and familiars joined the clan, her strength grew, binding them all together in this strange magic.

Of course, knowing how the magic functioned didn’t mean they got any better at keeping their guests safe.

 

* * *

 

> The trees grow tall in the canyon, taller than perhaps they should in the otherwise craggy landscape of Dragonhome. They grow tall, so tall, and they are old. Some of the oldest trees in Sornieth, perhaps, it’s hard to say for sure because beneath their boughs the air prickles with magic, a faint sense that something _more_ lingers nearby, something _else_. Something that should probably shoot alarm down spines and hasten a traveller’s feet. Instead, calm sinks through skin and scales, feathers and bone; easing worries and allaying fears. And lowering guards.
> 
> Visitors always come through the docks, no one can say for why or how this is true but it is. No one has ever entered the clan’s territory by coming down from the top of the cliff, folks don’t enter from the desert in the south, they don’t drop out of the sky and land just anywhere. They _always_ arrive at the docks. And you are no exception. You are greeted by one of the largest dragons in the lair, Seven, a great blue Imperial, she shimmers brilliantly in the sunlight, so luminescent she can be hard to perceive correctly, as if perhaps she’s not really there. But she is, large and solid and very soft, a kind dragon, considerate.
> 
> She shows you around, points out the other boats in the harbour, explains that one of the airships is leaving in a few days if you want to take it down to the Plateau. You vessel will be safe here, protected by the harbour, until you return for it. The way she says that makes you think it’s the kind of protection that not even the residents can violate, a binding promise.
> 
> She lifts a claw to indicate a short stall surrounded by an orchard of various fruit trees, on top of the stall is perched a bright yellow Nocturne adorned with flowers and wearing a brilliant smile, he munches on a golden apple. Her son, she tells you, is their head merchant. Pride rings loud in her tone and you smile with her. He waves at you but rather than be distracted by his wares, you trot after Seven again. Your gaze snags on a hodge-podge ship with pastel green sails and a bizarre contraption perched aft. Seven rolls her eyes but refuses to elaborate. You tear your gaze away lest you miss some of her words.
> 
> Again she points at what looks like a giant naturally occurring spire of rock. The public Assembly, she calls it. A place for guests to make requests, air displeasures and communicate with the lair’s leadership. Why she specifies that it’s the _public_ Assembly, you don’t get a chance to ask, she’s moving again and she has much larger strides than you.
> 
> The last thing she gestures to is another spire, this one much closer to the canyon wall. You tilt your head back to take in its full height as you listen to Seven tell you about the Lodge. It’s a place for guests to stay if they don’t wish to stay on a ship, it’s more comfortable, she says this jokingly but you’re sure she’s right. And besides, it’ll be nice to stretch your legs. The fee for the Lodge is waived for those who come by ship, like you have, and only applies to travellers who don’t have to pay a docking fee. It’s more reasonable than you were expecting and you can’t help but wonder how they make any profit at all. Some clans charge for everything they can. It’s nice, really.
> 
> She makes a vague gesture with her paw, telling you to find a room to your liking – as long as it’s not already claimed – and that’s that, just keep it tidy. You smile, of course, with hospitality like this it’s the least you can do. She beams, and informs you that her son will arrange for meals later and if you need any special supplies don’t hesitate to ask him or Passage, the yellow phantom who helps out at the Lodge. She turns to leave but at the last second swivels her head around, long neck bringing it as close to you as she can, clearly intending to impart a sense of severity to her next words.
> 
> “Do not leave the docks,” she says, tone flat, formal. It’s serious, but troubled.
> 
> Unbidden your eyes lift to look past the boundary she has outlined; you can’t help but be curious as to what lies beyond. You nod vaguely, but are probably too preoccupied thinking about it than you should be. Seven doesn’t look particularly convinced that you’ve taken her warning to heart, lips twisting slightly in a way you can’t read. But she turns properly this time and wanders off, no doubt required elsewhere.
> 
> Throughout the afternoon, you see only a few of the other locals. An earthy Guardian meeting with a delegation of centaurs on their odd boats. A dark Bogsneak who appears to converse with the merchant whose name you learn is Ji Qeng, the Bogsneak leaves two sacks full of supplies, no doubt requested by someone else, and leaves. The guard changes once, the grumpy Mirror disappearing to be replaced by a cheerful Ridgeback who stops to chat with you for a moment, he asks after your home, how you make your living, your family. A colourful Pearlcatcher and a sandy Mirror engrossed in their own private world as they head down to the beach and turn into a small cove you hadn’t seen before. It’s very clearly one of the more active portions of their lair.
> 
> But your eyes turn inland again all the same, curiosity burning in your chest.
> 
> Pulling at you. Calling.
> 
> “You shouldn’t,” comes a sing song voice. You look over to realise you’ve wandered closer to the merchant’s stall and Ji Qeng is watching you with knowing eyes. “It’s really not a good idea.”
> 
> “What isn’t?” you ask, wondering if maybe he’ll be more forthcoming than his mother.
> 
> He just smiles; his voice pitches lower, similar to yours when he replies, “Head further into the lair. I advise against it.” One of his paws rattles a tray of gleaming jewels and trinkets, trying to catch your attention perhaps. “Make a trade instead. It’s healthier.” Something in his smile suggests those words are not at all truth.
> 
> You lie and say you have nothing to offer and step away from him, though you can feel his eyes on you anyway. His mother’s words ring in your head but you don’t know why. And you don’t know why you’re so curious either. It’s probably a privacy thing; the regions inland belong to the dragons who live here, their dens and other personal spaces, no doubt. You shouldn’t pry.
> 
> It niggles away at your ribs anyway. And when the sun begins to sink over the waves you watch it fade. A haze seems to settle over the beach then and you find your gaze once more drawn back to the canyon and its trees, its secrets.
> 
> _Do not leave the docks_.
> 
> You can hear the words, but they are less urgent now. How bad could it be? Your eyes cut back to the stand but the little Nocturne is gone now, probably to fetch the foodstuffs for the guests as Seven suggested he would.
> 
> Your feet itch; carry you without explicit permission towards the markers that outline the public space. It’s not a small region that guests have been permitted to use, not really, but your feet move anyway. The sand crunches beneath your claws, turns to grass and cracked dirt. You pass the entrance to the public Assembly.
> 
> Your scales tingle, twitch and an odd sense of alarm rolls down your spine and out the tip of your tail. It doesn’t linger, the peace that hangs about the docks settles around you once again. The niggling feeling that something isn’t right remains easy to ignore.
> 
> At first your surrounds are consistent, the rocky ground mostly bare, hardy greenery springing from cliff walls and draping the pillars in a living blanket. You turn away from what you suppose is the main canyon, not wanting to be caught out of bounds before you’re ready to return. You imagine it’d be easy to get lost in the interconnected canyons, the ground doesn’t keep level, it is stepped in places, arches over itself in others, there are gates and paths carved into the rock, some lead up the walls and some wind between them. You just keep wandering, looking about you and wondering what the space is used for.
> 
> There are impressive stone carvings in some of the walls and spires. You stop to inspect them, dragons and beastfolk you know but there are other creatures too, the kind you can’t put a name to. They’re all highly detailed but weathered. You move on, hoping to find something else, something impressive. Perhaps to take with you, a souvenir maybe or something that might fetch a nice price back home, but more information on your hosts and their clan, their history, their culture would be welcome, better even. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to them and their lair than they let on.
> 
> The canyon grows dark all at once, the sunlight behind you disappearing without warning and throwing you into a suddenly ominous world of inky shadows and dangerous drops. You hold your wings out to the side to steady yourself and are stunned to feel leaves. You squint up through the gloom, straining to make out shapes that don’t leap at you while shrieking with laughter. The trees close around you and you glance behind yourself, trying to pick out the direction you came from, but even when you swing your tail to either side all you can see and feel is more plant life.
> 
> _Do not leave the docks_.
> 
> You swallow, Seven’s warning seeming much more dire now, still not making much sense but the vague feeling of dread grows within you. It prickles like thorns between your ribs and down your spine and is smothered by a calm you’re sure you don’t really feel.
> 
> Soft light flickers ahead of you, sputtering to life and winking out again. Not knowing what else to do, you step slowly towards it. More lights flicker around you as you progress, casting a warm glow against the leaves. Perhaps there’s nothing to fear after all.
> 
> Something moves off to your right but you keep your focus on the lights to control the fear that struggles beneath your unnatural calm. You’re sure it’s unnatural, but at the same time you’re glad for it, glad not to be fighting a blind panic. You ignore the whispering too. It’s probably just the leaves after all.
> 
> Until the lights go out. You can feel those thorns in your chest again, winding around your legs and holding you fast. Seven’s words toll in your head and it’s suddenly obvious that you should’ve listened. She knows her lair better than you and _clearly_ it doesn’t like outsiders.
> 
> Your certainty of this only grows when you make the decision to leap into the air and fly back to the docks only to find the thorns you imagined before are actually keeping you prisoner now. They tether you to the ground. The ground that shifts below your feet and when light blooms again, this time you wish it hadn’t.
> 
> A large creature stands before you, concealed within the trees, its face is a bark mask mostly but behind it is the light, glowing green and orange. You’re not entirely sure what shape it is because the longer you look the clearer the realisation that it _is_ the plants around you becomes. Its shoulders are heavy and thick, the arms growing from them equally so. Its hunched back rattles as it shifts again and the thorns binding you creep further up your legs, pulling you in.
> 
> It occurs to you that perhaps _now_ would be a good time to start screaming, to struggle, to unleash whatever elemental magic you can conjure in such a state. The moment you open your mouth, however, the creature lifts one massive paw, made of roots you think vaguely, and wraps it around your entire face, snapping your jaws shut, useless. You struggle anyway, throwing your entire body weight this way and that, shrieks muffled by the creature’s hold.
> 
> _You will lie here_.
> 
> The words vibrate through your bones, a kind of agony you didn’t know you had the capacity to feel. As if your entire body is shaking to pieces. You flap your wings weakly, still trying to break free but soon they are pinned to your side by more of the creeping plants.
> 
> Slowly, very slowly, the forest consumes you. But you can feel that horrible voice in your bones all the same.
> 
> _You will feed the forest. And you will become part of it._
> 
> Those ominous words cause one last dawning realisation: the creature before you was spawned from some misfortunate fool just like you. That is your fate.
> 
> _You should not have left the docks_.

 

* * *

 

 

The ship sits untended in the harbour come morning. Seven watches it carefully at Anthelion’s side; her eyes are sad. But Kairos emerges happily from the ship’s hold, the drawstrings of a sack held between her grinning teeth. She drops it in front of them and pries it open.

Gold glitters within.

“A merchant,” she says. “There’s more below.”

“A merchant travelling by himself?” Anthelion asks, head tilted to one side.

“He was alone yesterday,” Seven confirms. “Perhaps a smuggler.”

It didn’t matter what he was because it was past. Tarryn had found the mound in the early hours, the corpse well on its way to becoming one of her creatures. A better end than some, as far as Anthelion was concerned. Death was preferable to the hollow husk creatures she’s seen the Greenwood spit back out, better than being ground into dust by the rocks that grow golems, better than the binding contract that leaves some as spectres, haunting Sornieth ‘til the end of time.

“Do you know what this is, Anth?” Kieri’s quiet voice is concerned. It’s hard to keep the guests safe when they don’t heed warnings. And some clan leader she is if she can’t protect visitors to her territory. Nothing Anthelion can say will ease her anxiety fully, but so help her, she’ll try.

She bobs her head back and forth, a noncommittal gesture. She thinks she knows what it is, but without being certain she doesn’t want to say for sure. “It is keeping our lands _ours_. I suppose magic protects magic.”

“Protects who?”

The tremor in Kieri’s tone is enough to send a soft vibration through her antennae, distress and fear. Anthelion’s gaze turns to meet hers properly.

“It’s protecting _us_ , Kieri.”

–

The canyon is protected, a magic that permeates everything – and everyone – within. None enters the lair without permission, or invite. And none but the residents ever leave.

 _Do not leave the docks_.


	13. the left behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls see this post for visuals: http://reliquiaenfr.tumblr.com/post/174658591023/alright-here-we-go-the-next-chapter-in-my-lore

The Reliquary was not always an overgrown ruin of a canyon. It was lived in, once. Or perhaps twice, Tahvi has never been able to ascertain for sure but given the variation in artworks and styles and depictions… well it stands to reason that it was lived in more than once before they found it.

Whether or not it was cursed then too, she’s not sure.

Isn’t sure she wants to know.

Especially not if the reason the old residents are gone is because the lair turned on them and ate them or something. Yeah. Best not to think on that too hard.

Regardless, she’s been methodically combing through all the old, crumbling structures left behind by individuals (dragons? beastfolk? something else???) long dead. And she’s been at it for weeks.

It was just such a fascinating area to explore. And there were only thirty-five dragons safe to do so. What with the whole… ‘everyone who enters the lair uninvited dies’  curse thing.

Parts of it were old – no, _ancient_. There were odd markers all around the place, remnants of something that had preceded them by easily thousands of years. They were crumbling and faded and few and far between besides, but they were the border stones. Or so they had been dubbed. After some very careful prodding at the magic and its limits, Anthelion had concluded that these border stones marked the edge of the cursed lands. They were functionally the canyons borders and, by extent, the edges of their lands.

Anything inside those markers belonged to the Reliquary.

And Tahvi had spent more of her time in the canyon poking about and examining the ruins than almost anything else. Aora was probably getting sick of her staring at carvings for six hours a day, but they are mysteries she plans to unravel. Eventually.

The wall before her is one such. She’d found the small, square room a few hours ago. The only entrance collapsed on one side so the archway was almost impassable with rubble. But the smooth walls and slightly domed ceiling (tall enough for an Imperial and then some) were all intricately carved.

Meticulously so, in fact. It had taken her the better part of two hours to realise that the scenes depicted on the walls were some collection of ceremonies, perhaps indicating the worship of ancient gods. She wondered if they were more or less involved in worldly affairs than the Eleven.

It probably didn’t matter; the iconography was unfamiliar to her so whatever the gods were there was no one left to worship them. She had a feeling the artists were dragons though, from the shapes. That, or truly remarkable beastfolk.

Again, she didn’t want to think about what they were if neither of those. It couldn’t possibly be left over from the Second Age. Couldn’t possibly. (And if Khazamaran stood as a testament to what could linger from then, well… well she was doing a good job of ignoring everything else, why not that too.)

Once more she ran a paw across the intricate carvings, tail swishing behind her, stirring the half inch of sand coating the floor. This wall had held her attention for longer than the rest thanks to the almost invisible grooves outlining a single section. The faint indents in the rock ran from floor to ceiling and she probably would’ve overlooked them if her earth sense hadn’t cast glittering strings of light across the wall, highlighting the differences and drawing her gaze.

She suspected it was a door. Of some kind.

Despite leaning her shoulder into it and pushing as hard as she could, or pressing her claws into various places she thought likely to conceal hidden switches or pressure plates, the panel of wall remained resolutely solid. If she were any other dragon, she might even be inclined to rethink her assessment of it as a doorway.

But she was not any other dragon.

So she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. (Aora always called this cheating.) It took a moment for her to focus but soon the dust beneath her paws stirred, lifting off the ground just slightly. The section of wall in front of her shuddered and a thin coat of sand shook loose, cascading down to join the rest a fraction of an inch off the stone floor.

When she opened her eyes again, the sparkling lights that always let her know where things of interest lay had brightened across her vision. None of the glittering magic flickered into warning hues, indicative of danger ahead, so that was nice.

Unless the earth had suddenly developed a macabre sense of humour anyway. She decided not to dwell on that too much, either.

Instead, she followed the lines of light to a seemingly innocuous part of the carvings and pressed the heel of her palm against it. She was rewarded with a satisfying click. Then, with a truly awful grating sound, the wall sunk inwards, the edges were the grooves she’d noted. That, too, was satisfying.

The door moved no further, so after a moment of blinking at it in frustration; she turned side on and leaned into it, huffing when it proved heavy. Lending a little more earth magic to the task she planted her feet more solidly and heaved again. Magic solves everything, after all. The panel shuddered and moaned and eventually there was another harsh click. With that, the door swung backwards, away from the room and tucked itself neatly into a niche in the passageway beyond. It fit so snugly into place that if she hadn’t just watched it move herself, she would’ve thought it part of the wall permanently.

Tahvi didn’t move at first, tilting her head to observe the dark of the corridor beyond. It seemed to be a single shaft, all square edges and more detailed carvings. There was no light, however, and despite the way the earth always lit up softly for her, the light it provided was not enough to illuminate the hallway. Actually, she wasn’t sure it gave off any light at all, what with it not even being there and all that.

She took another deep breath and, ignoring the little Aora-voice in the back of her head telling her she was being stupid – stepped into the corridor.

Blissfully, the door did not swing ominously shut behind her.

So there was that.

The tunnel ran straight for quite a ways without a hint of variation or a break in the walls. The carvings remained too, she could sense the shallow indentations just vaguely and she spared no time or energy in focusing hard enough to pick them out with magic in the gloom. There were more panels outlined with floor-to-ceiling grooves, too, she could sense them just a little more clearly than the carvings, but Tahvi wasted no time investigating them or the tunnels they might lead to. She merely pressed on, hoping there was an end at some point.

And, of course, there was. A faint greenish glow began to softly illuminate the passage but it took her a few more silent moments before it clicked: sunlight. The light filtering through came from outside, an arch of brilliance appearing through the dark of the hall. Vines of some sort hung across much of the elegant archway (an arch, she noted, filing it away for later, where all the others had been square) explaining the green tinge to the light in the tunnel. Once she brushed past the greenery, she found herself standing in great circular room.

Or… perhaps room wasn’t _quite_ the right word.

It was, very clearly, carved out of the rock of the canyon wall, and yet all the walls were smooth. Like the walls in the corridors and rooms she’d been through previously, these ones were decorated with intricate murals. Tahvi had spent plenty of time in the other rooms deciphering their messages as stories and myths but these were different. She’d need to puzzle them out eventually (at a pinch she’d say they look like a tale of creation… some sort of worship).

There’s a step down from the archway, just a shallow one, and then another, before the room spreads out below her. She turned to look up at the arch she’d come through, around the edges runes had been etched. She had no idea what they meant, but they looked familiar: the same kind as on the boundary stones. A larger stone had been inset into the top of the arch, ruining her theory that the entire structure had been carved from the canyon wall with no adjustments made. A wavy rune with three lines attached graced the stone and she wondered at its importance.

For now, though, she turned again to take in the rest of the room.

There was no high ceiling, instead the room kept going up until it reached the top of the canyon wall, the sunlight filtered down through the narrow crack up there, and the closer to that slit the walls became, the more rough-hewn they looked.

On the far side of the cavern two columns lanced upwards. At the base, they seemed freestanding, but as she followed them up she realised they merged into the wall. Between them was a plinth, carved with runes and vines and leaves. And on top of the plinth sat a statue that sent a shiver down her spine.

They had always assumed that their patron god, Fida’an, was an entity brought into existence by the magic in the clan – a protective essence of pure magic. But this statue was very close to all their representations of her. It was uncanny.

Tahvi glanced down at the floor, not wanting to activate some kind of defensive mechanism (something she had done in the past to her immediate regret). The floor seemed perfectly flat and polished, though, no indication of joins or carvings here. Not even any paint.

As she dropped down to the second step, however, she re-evaluated that assumption. The dust on the floor seemed to _shift_ and a tingle ran along her back. It felt as if the room had taken a deep expectant breath. Crazy. She shook her head.

But as she moved to place her paw on the floor proper she realised she wasn’t actually going mad just yet. Something was moving. Under the floor? Above it? She couldn’t tell. But it swirled into patterns and glittered like her earth sense did when it was showing her something. Her brow creased.

With a last fleeting thought of Aora telling her not to do anything stupid, she placed her paw on the floor. It was cool.

And it instantly flickered to life beneath her.

A warm yellow light burned under her palm – not hot – but bright, shimmering like sunlight in the desert at midday. Lines coiled and darted away from where she stood and runes lit up all around the room.

“It’s been waiting,” she realised, so stunned by that she said it aloud.

And it felt like the room released that breath – satisfied.

Tahvi stepped out properly onto the floor and the lights beneath her moved when she did, always where her paws met the stone, lights shone beneath them. Experimentally she lifted a foot and the light faded as she did so. When she planted it again the light returned.

“Fascinating…”

Carefully she walked across the floor – taking her light with her – towards the plinth and the odd statue. She was lucky she kept staring at the way the lights swirled around her because otherwise she might’ve just stood in the pool of water at the base of the plinth. She blinked, wondering momentarily how this water came to be here. Then she remembered the ceiling. When it rained the water puddled here. Hm.

She turned her gaze back up to the statue. Most of it had been carved to look like fabric draped across someone’s shoulders – not a dragon though, perhaps a serthis? The stone was worn now after years of rain running down its flanks and thanks in part to the greenery curling around it, no doubt. There was no face. In place of that was a mask that looked to Tahvi exactly like fossilised wood and from immediately behind the mask grew two forward curving antlers like a strange crown.

As if that thought had triggered something, the lights shot forward, climbing the plinth and rustling the leaves until they coiled on the mask and bloomed into a glittering crown.

This was powerful magic.

Honestly, Tahvi half expected the statue to come to life.

It didn’t. But the lights beneath her feet shifted again and she turned once more. The light spiralled away from her towards the edges of the room and they licked up the walls highlighting a door.

Not the door she came through.

Swivelling her gaze, Tahvi realised there were three archways in the chamber: the one she’d come through and two others, one on each side, neither of these two had steps.

Warily, she made her way over to one of the arches and peered through the vines dripping down, covering the runes and obscuring her view. There wasn’t much of a hallway beyond, she could just see into the room but it was gloomy and hard to make out.

The lights above her shimmered again.

“Oh so you want me to step into the strange room then?” she asked.

The lights kept flickering.

She sighed.

Once more, the glittering followed her through and once she’d entered the other room properly the lights illuminated it for her. It was stupid to think of these caverns as being sentient but it was hard not to, really, with the lights in the floor guiding her around. Or maybe it was something else? Maybe someone still lived in here? She tried very hard not to think about that.

A great slab of stone filled the middle of the room – standing on a little circular platform – and it was what the swirling lights coiled around first. A single large rune was etched into the middle of the stone with others at the rounded top and bottom. The lights whorled around that big rune as if it was important.

It towered above her as she stepped over to it, careful to check for more water but there was none. The stone slab wasn’t very thick, but it was easily as tall as Daeddrin, the rune in the middle was probably not much smaller than she was, actually.

As she peered up at it, wondering what it was for, the rest of the room lit up slowly so she turned to investigate.

The walls were carved away just above her head so that a great big ledge ran right around the circumference of the room. On the wall above that it looked like more runes or something was etched but she couldn’t see it very well so she wandered over to the ledge and clambered up.

It wasn’t easy. The sides were almost completely smooth and she struggled to get a purchase. When she did finally manage to haul herself up she immediately slipped and tipped headfirst into a hole she hadn’t realised was there.

“Ow!” she cried as her hip caught something hard.

The hole wasn’t deep thankfully, but it was full of great big rocks. How weird.

She shook herself off as she stood and squinted at the rocks. Tahvi lifted a paw to wipe at the dirt and green clinging to the surface. This one was quite large, about the same size as she was and for the life of her she could _not_ fathom what someone would want with a rock this big.

She kept peering at the rock in the flickering light and extended her earth sense towards it.

And she staggered back into another rock. Well.

It wasn’t a rock at all and she blinked around herself taking in the four rounded shapes that were not rocks and were in fact actually _eggs_.

Tentatively, she reached towards the nearest egg and used her magic to inspect it for any indication that it had turned to stone, petrified like the mask on the statue in the other room. Instead she felt _life_ burning within.

Tahvi rubbed her hand across the surface in awe. “How long have you been here?” she breathed. “Must be centuries. You poor things.”

Four abandoned eggs down here in this weird temple.

It occurred to her abruptly that this might not be the _only_ nest on the ledge so she hauled herself back up.

And nearly fell down again.

That nest was one of ten in the room and all had eggs in them. She counted a few of them but there was easily thirty eggs. Maybe more.

“Are they all alive?” she asked the room, not _really_ expecting an answer.

(She actually was fully expecting this strange, strange place to answer her somehow.)

(It didn’t, thankfully.)

And there was another room too. She figured they’d be the same but to satisfy herself she jumped down from the ledge and raced across the main chamber kicking up dust and glitter as she did so. When Tahvi skidded into the other room and the lights coiled around a pillar and up the walls to glimmer across the stone her mouth fell open.

This room was full of eggs too.

So many eggs. And not in a public space. If this was a temple… or some place of worship anyway, then what were eggs doing in here? Why had the chamber been sealed from outside? And why had the lair been abandoned with so many eggs still stored here?

Another very important question: if this place was old – so old she’d tentatively say it pre-dated most other draconic structures she’d seen – then what were eggs doing here? Was it even a draconic lair? If not, then whose? Perhaps she’d have to ask Venin about it, he might be old enough to know of the significance… or who had built it. Maybe. She wouldn’t hold her breath.

It seemed likely that her theory that dragons had lived here after someone (or something) else was correct. At least when taking the graphics and eggs both into consideration. Though that wasn’t especially comforting, really.

Tahvi smoothed a palm across one of the eggs.

Why _had_ they been left behind?

She supposed there were a few options; maybe they couldn’t be carried with. (Maybe everyone died in an accident… or worse.) She thought about the runes carved everywhere like some kind of charm, about the statue of… well she assumed it was Fida’an… somehow. So perhaps these eggs were special somehow. Like how she was special. Or Anthelion.

Maybe they were dangerous.

It occurred to her briefly that she might not even _want_ to know the answer.

(That was stupid. Of course she wanted to know.)

After another moment to glance around the chamber at all the eggs she launched herself from the ledge and hastened from the temple.

For the more she thought about it, the more convinced she grew that it was precisely that.

But she had to tell someone about this. Kieri would need to know and maybe she could pass the whole thing off to her. Or Venin. Regardless, the sooner she told someone else about this, the less responsibility she’d feel if they hatched into horrible monstrosities.

And given how their lair was turning out, she wouldn’t put it past them.


	14. the reclaimed

Inerri’s paws flitter above the surface of the egg, never quite touching its craggy shell; her frills flutter equally. Kieri can’t read her fae-specific expressions properly but she knows enough to identify when she flicks back to anxiety. It’s a lot.

The only reason her innate mimicry reflexes aren’t taking hold of her entire body is because she can’t actually copy Inerri’s frills. So there’s that.

Tahvi shuffles in the doorway but Kieri spares her only a glance before going back to watching Inerri. Their adventurous mirror had been equal parts worried and thrilled to share her news but now it looks like it’s taking all of her strength not to launch herself at the murals on the walls in an attempt to learn more. Kieri’s of half a mind to let her.

The Eleven only know they need all the information they can get.

“Go, Tahvi,” she sighs after another long moment. “We’ll be fine.”

She nods her head jerkily and races back into the main hall, crests twitching. Kieri fixes her attention back on Inerri. With a final hesitant gesture, Inerri’s fingers land on the egg and her frills still for perhaps five seconds. Her head dips low, her nose bumps against the dusty exterior and her eyes close for a fraction of a heartbeat.

Kieri doesn’t get her mouth more than part way open before she speaks.

“There’s something… strange in these eggs,” Inerri mutters. It’s hard to tell from her tone, but it almost sounds as if she corrects to ‘strange’ to stop from saying ‘wrong’.

“Strange?” she presses, eyes flicking up to where Anthelion and Venin are crouched by the big runestone in the middle of the room.

Inerri’s tiny brows draw together. “They are… special.”

Again, Kieri curses the natural blandness of fae-speech for the ominous way that comes across.

She watches as Anthelion tilts back, lifts her paws, runs them over the stone. The rune in the centre lights up a fraction brighter beneath her touch and Venin mutters something to her. She shakes her head and lowers her arms.

“Special _how_ , Inerri?” she asks. “Are we in danger?”

Inerri shakes her head. “Impossible to say. They feel… as if they match somehow.” She says ‘match’ with an upwards jerk of her head and impressive flare of her crests to give emphasis. “As if they are part of the lair.”

“So Tahvi was right?” she muses. “They were left by the last residents.”

“I didn’t say that,” she corrects. “I said they match. I believe the magic of the lair has somehow seeped into them. And the recent magical fluctuations probably didn’t help either. They are more susceptible to magic, I think.”

Anthelion alights beside them, lowering her nose to the egg closest. “She’s right. That’s what those stones are for. This whole structure is designed to be a nexus for magical energies so the eggs will absorb more of them and in all likelihood hatch into something that reflects this.”

Kieri tilts her head, gaze shifting between the nest and her mate. “Are they dragons?”

Inerri and Anthelion exchange a look. “They appear to be,” Inerri eventually says.

“And… are they going to hatch?”

Anthelion drops her chin onto Kieri’s shoulder, her lips curling up into a soft smile. “That’s what eggs do, love.”

“That doesn’t worry you?”

“No more than letting new folks into the lair does,” she laughs. “Besides, the lair rejects everyone. If they hatch… _when_ they hatch, we’ll find them homes or send them off as pilgrims. Just like we do for everyone else.”

Kieri sighs, eyes sliding closed. “Inerri, do we have space for them?”

“Plenty.”

When she opens her eyes, Venin is standing at the base of the ledge. “Is this a terrible idea?” she asks him. “Are they even safe to move?”

His head swivels around to look at all the other nests; Denara is on the far side of the room, still counting them up. “We found nothing to suggest there are wards keeping them here,” he murmurs. “They are dormant, yes, but are as likely to hatch here as outside. As for the rest…” He hunches a shoulder and turns away. “You’re the leader now, kid.” Then he wanders off to join Denara.

She swaps a long look with Anthelion. Her mate nods once and she sighs again. “I want Serri to come take a look at them,” she says. “If she says they’re safe to move, we’ll get Dae down here to help shift them to the nesting grounds.”

“And after that?” Inerri wonders.

“I suppose we wait and see.”

–

They don’t have to wait long, as it turns out.

The great pillar just on the outskirts of their designated Guest Safety Zone™ (aka, the docks) is tucked away from prying eyes and all the hustle and bustle that goes with the most heavily populated part of the lair. (While also being far enough away from some of the more… eccentric types to keep the little ones safe. A holdover from experiences in the Tangled Woods at Inerri’s insistence.)

There was just shy of seventy eggs in Tahvi’s strange temple and they fill the nesting grounds from wall to wall. In fact, all three floors are crammed with eggs, it’s the most they’ve ever had in the lair and, frankly, it’s overwhelming.

Anthelion and Inerri have been working overtime trying to figure out where they came from and they haven’t been short of help, either. Serendipity and Piper, Fen and Kairos; all have had a nose around the nests and all have come to the same conclusions.

First, they are all dragon eggs.

Second, they are all filled with highly concentrated magic.

Third, that magic bares a startling resemblance to the lair. And that it is possibly unstable.

Wonderful conclusions to Kieri’s mind. She flits through the rooms as softly as possible, scared to touch them in case they explode like that reactor in one of Anthelion’s old stories.

After a few days of constantly watching the eggs, though, it’s becoming increasingly clear that they are not going to hatch. Well. Kieri doesn’t think so. Inerri estimates that they’ve been dormant for hundreds of years and at this point they don’t look likely to switch to active any time soon.

Tahvi is less certain of this. And she’s been nose to the walls in the temple since the last egg was carted out.

She sits now at the base of the spire, tail swishing over the sand impatiently, wings twitching, fingers tapping on the side of the item she has wrapped in both arms and hugged tightly to her chest.

“Kieri!” she calls. Her wings snap open and she just about topples over with the sudden burst of energy. “Kieri, I found something!”

Tahvi hasn’t been closer to the eggs than she absolutely has to be since she found them, so her presence here, now, is indicative of something. Kieri sweeps past Qao where he stands nearly entirely still at the entrance and alights near the jittery mirror.

“From the temple?”

“Oh yes,” Tahvi whispers, setting the item down on the sand between them, paws reverent as she adjusts it. “Yes, something lost. It’s wonderful.” She points to a spot where weathered runes wrap around the squarish stone block. “This is an ancient tongue,” she explains. “I had to get Venin to translate it’s so old.”

“Draconic languages don’t change that much.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. This is from the _very beginning_. Back when the world was _new_.”

Kieri jerks backwards. “These eggs are that old?”

“I don’t think so, but pretty close. I think… from the carvings and what Venin has been able to decipher – the writing is all very poorly preserved, you understand, since the room is open to the weather at least a bit so there’s _some_ degradation, but enough is still legible that we’ve been piecing it together.” Tahvi catches sight of Kieri’s expression and shuffles her wings, clearing her throat before going on. “Anyway. The canyon was built as a sort of haven I guess, for magic.”

Kieri gives her a fully sceptical look. “Dragons are magic, Tahvi,” she says in a right proper toneless impersonation of a fae. “Why would we need a haven for magic?”

Tahvi rolls all four of her eyes. “Look around, Kieri. Not all magic is _safe_. Many of us have been chased out of places before. Think about Serri.”

“A haven for…” she hesitates in saying ‘dangerous’, “temperamental magic then?”

Tahvi shakes her head. “More like…” She hunches closer to the sand and scribbles something with a claw before swiping it away. “More like a… heart, I guess. That temple wasn’t the geographical centre of the lair but it was the _heart_. Like how our hearts aren’t quite in the exact middle but they still keep our bodies going. You understand?”

She frowns. “This canyon is a concentrated magical node, then?”

Tahvi bobs her head from side to side. “Sort of. My theory is this: quite a lot of us have… unusual magical gifts, some of us are shunned because of it, and we all ended up here. I think the lair was designed to protect magic that’s a little extreme.”

“That’s absurd, not all dragons like us are collected here,” Kieri points out.

“No, they’re not. But what if all the eggs _hatched_ here are affected by the concentration of magic?” Tahvi taps a claw against the stone block. “This rune here? Venin translated it to mean something like ‘focusing’ so my hunch is that the magic in this area is kept at an appropriate level by funnelling excess magic into eggs.”

Kieri’s mouth actually drops at that. “You’re suggesting that these eggs are being _manifested_ directly out of magical energy?”

“I am. I’m also suggesting that the dragons who hatch from those eggs are going to be a lot like some of us, with weird and beautiful magical gifts. The kind the rest of the world might not like so much.”

Kieri’s claws work against the rock she’s perched on until pebbles crumble from the edge. “Okay. So what does that mean?”

Tahvi shifts uncomfortably, tail flicking until sand puffs up around her, wings tucking closer to her body. She won’t meet Kieri’s eyes either which is really all the confirmation she needs that her friend knows something else and doesn’t want to say. Tahvi rubs absently at a corner of her stone and puffs her cheeks out before she blurts it out.

“It _means_ that those of us the lair lets live? We are the ones selected to protect the lair.” She pauses for a long leaden moment before adding in a quiet voice, “I think the dragons the lair eats are absorbed and their magic is added to the eggs.”

“Wait a minute,” Kieri mutters, “you’re suggesting that we started this?”

Tahvi’s eyes go wide and she shakes her head hard. “Oh no, not at all. Many of these eggs were already formed. But I think…” she trails off but picks up again when Kieri gives her a hard look. “Well I don’t know for certain, you’d have to consult Anthelion, but I _think_ when you set up your wards… it took so well because there was vestigial magic already here… and that maybe, you co-opted it to suit your purposes but some of the original function remained.”

There’s another very long moment of silence.

“Gladekeeper’s canopy,” Kieri whispers. “River was right.”

“Only mostly right,” Tahvi corrects. “There was no deity here, only magic. But insofar as it’s protecting us for your purposes and not its original purposes? Well I don’t know how these kinds of things work. But if your patron god wasn’t real before, she’s at least _passably_ real now. And well beyond my comprehension.”

Kieri rubs at the end of her snout. “When the eggs _hatch_ … what will happen?”

Tahvi shrugs. “Hard to say for sure. Probably nothing. More eggs will form, more dragons will hatch, the magic will remain regardless.”

She winkles her nose, not wanting to ask the question but compelled to anyway. “Will the lair… eat them?”

Tahvi remains quiet a beat, rubbing her hands against the stone, eyes unfocused in thought. “I don’t see why it would, not immediately at least. That would be tantamount to eating your child immediately after hatching just to lay more eggs. Weird.”

( _She ate her children, kid. We must be careful who we allow into the lair. She was never very stable but… Just. Be careful._ )

Kieri pushes that memory violently away. This is her problem, not that one. It’s in the past.

“You’d be surprised,” she whispers. “We’ll put word out, maybe we can find some of them homes, then. I’d not like to risk it.”

Tahvi nods her head. “And… the temple?”

Kieri stares off at the trees. “I guess time will tell.”

There’s a shuffling behind her and she turns. Qao has moved from his post, picking his way through the eggs on long spindly legs towards a cluster about halfway towards the other side. He crouches as low as he can and blinks his beady eyes at them.

For a moment, Kieri isn’t sure why he’s studying those so intently. Then she sees one rock. Just gently at first, but then again, stronger. It bumps into its neighbour and that one teeters a moment before rolling onto its side.

Another cluster begins to shift as well and she feels more than sees when Tahvi gathers up her rock and scurries away. Kieri kind of wishes she could go with.

It’s begun.

–

Every last hatchling displays immediate magical talent (proving Tahvi correct). Some of them even have bizarre eyes that Anthelion says are probably a result of the high concentration of magic they were exposed to in the shell.

Anthelion shivers from crest to claw that night curled up in their den and her eyes flash an uncanny pink when she lurches awake. Kieri is instantly alert, nose tucked into Anthelion’s throat.

“Are you alright?” she breathes.

She can feel Anthelion trembling but she nods. “I’m okay. The magic in the lair… it’s…”

“Did something bad happen?”

Anthelion laughs softly, voice rough with sleep. “No, love. We’re fine. It felt more like… like the first time the lair woke up. You remember that evening Tarryn found the first body? It’s like that.”

Kieri runs a paw through her mane. “I remember. Is it that temple?” She really wishes Tahvi had never found the damn thing.

“Perhaps.” Her jaw cracks in a mighty yawn. “All the magic is still intact, we’re fine, Kieri.” She presses her nose against Kieri’s shoulder. “Go back to sleep.”

And they do. But in the morning Serendipity (who has decided to take up living in the weird temple for some reason Kieri literally _cannot_ fathom) slips ghostly into the Assembly.

She has in her paws a single craggly egg. “This was in the temple this morning,” she whispers, placing it on the tiles and leaving without waiting for any kind of response.

Kieri stares at it long and hard before looking up at Anthelion. “Is this…?”

“What I felt last night? Probably. Maybe the temple was dormant until Tahvi reactivated it and now it’s channelling magic again.”

She sighs heavily. Looks like more weird magical children are on the horizon.

“We have to rehome the others as fast as possible.”

Anthelion laughs softly and leans into her side. “Bet you didn’t think we’d become hatchling sitters for magically manifested eggs, huh?”

Kieri rolls her eyes.

But then, it’s not the craziest thing the lair has given them.

She just hopes it’s not hiding any darker secrets.


End file.
